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BIOGRAPHIES 

OF 

ANCIENT AND MODERN 

CELEBRATED FREETHINKERS. 

REPRINTED FROM AN ENGLISH WORK, ENTITLED 

"HALF-HOURS WITH THE FREETHINKERS." 

BY " ICONOCLAST." COLLINS, & WATTS. 



BOSTON 
PUBLISHED BY J. P. MENDUM, 

At the Office of the Boston Investigator. 
1877. 



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V. a. s, . r 



Engineers School LI by. 
June 29,1931 



EDITORS' PREFACE. 



In these pages, appearing under the title of " Half- 
Hours with the Freethinkers, " are collected in a read- 
able form an abstract of the lives and doctrines of some 
of those who have stood foremost in the ranks of Free- 
thought in all countries and in all ages ; and we trust 
that our efforts to place in the hands of the poorest of 
our party a knowledge of works and workers — some of 
which and whom would otherwise be out of their reach 
— will be received by all in a favorable light. We 
shall, in the course of our publication, have to deal 
with many writers whose opinions widely differ from 
our own, and it shall be our care to deal with them 
justly, and in all cases to allow them to utter in their 
own words their essential thinkings. 

We lay no claim to originality in the mode of treat- 
ment — we will endeavor to cull the choicest flowers 
from the garden, and if others can make a brighter or 
better boquet, we shall be glad to have their assist- 
ance. We have only one object in view, and that is, 
the presenting of free and manly thoughts to our read- 
ers, hoping to induce like thinking in them, and trust- 
ing that noble work may follow noble thoughts. The 
Freethinkers we intend treating of have also been Free 
Workers, endeavoring to raise men's minds from super- 
stition and bigotry, and place before them a knowledge 
of the real. 

We have been the more inclined to issue the " Half- 
Hours with the Freethinkers" in consequence, not 
only of the difficulty which many have in obtaining 
the works of the Old Freethinkers, but also as an ef- 
fective answer to some remarks which have lately ap- 
peared in certain religious publications, implying a 
dearth of thought and thinkers beyond the pale of the 
Church. We wish all men to know that great minds 
and good men have sought truth apart from faith for 
many ages, and that it is because few were prepared 
to receive them, and many united to crush them, their 
works are so difficult of access to the general mass at 
the present day. 



CONTENTS. 



Thomas Hobbes. .... 1 

Lord Bolingbroke. . „ . .17 

Condorcet. , . . . 33 

Spinoza. 49 

Anthony Collins. .... 65 

Des Cartes. , . . . .81 

M. De Voltaire. .... 95 

JohnToland. . . . . .111 

Compt De Volney. .... 127 

Charles Blount. . . . .143 

Percy Bysshe Shelley. . . 159 

Claude Arian Helvetius. . . . 171 

Frances W. D'Arusmont. . . . 187 

Epicurus. ..... 201 

Zeno. ...... 217 

Matthew Tindal. . . . .233 

David Hume. .... 249 

Dr. Thomas Burnet. .... 265 

Thomas Paine. . . . . 281 

Baptiste De Mirabaud. . . .297 

Baron D'Holbach. ... 299 

Robert Taylor. . . . . .312 

Joseph Barker. . . . . 327 



BIOGRAPHY 

OF 

THOMAS HOBBES. 



This distinguished Freethinker was born on the 5th 
of April, 1588, at Malmesbury ; hence his cognomen 
of " the philosopher of Malmesbury. ; ' In connection 
with his birth, we are told that his mother, being a 
loyal Protestant, was so terrified at the rumored ap- 
proach of the Spanish Armada, that the birth of her 
son was hastened in consequence. The subsequent 
timidity of Hobbes is therefore easily accounted for. 
The foundation of his education was laid in the gram- 
mar school of his native town, where most probably 
his father (being a clergyman) would officiate as tutor. 
At the age of fifteen he was sent to Oxford. Five years 
of assiduous study made him proficient as a tutor,' this, 
combined with his amiability and profound views of 
society, gained him the respect of the Earl of Devon- 
shire, and he was appointed tutor to the Earl's son, 
Lord Cavendish. From 1610 to 1628, he was constant- 
ly in the society of this nobleman, in the capacity of 
secretary. In the interval of this time he travelled in 
Fiance, Germany, and Italy ; cultivating in each capital 
the society of the leading statesmen and philosophers. 
Lord Herbert, of Cherbury, the first great English 
Deist, and Ben Jonson, the dramatist, were each his 
boon companions. In the year 1628, Hobbes again 
made the tour of the Continent for three years with 
another pupil, and became acquainted at Pisa with 
Galileo. In 1631 he was entrusted with the education 



1 



2 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



of another youth of the Devonshire family, and for 
near five years remained at Paris with his pupil. 

Hobbes returned to England in 1636. The troublous 
politics of this age, with its strong party prejudices, 
made England the reverse of a pleasant retirement, 
for either Hobbes or his patrons; so, perceiving the 
outbreak of the Revolution, he emigrated to Paris. 
There in the enjoyment of the company of Gassendi 
and Descartes, with the elite of Parisian genius, he 
was for awhile contented and happy. Here he engag- 
ed in a series of mathematical quarrels, which were 
prolonged throughout the whole of his life, on the 
quadrature of the circle. Seven years after, he was 
appointed mathematical tutor to the Prince of Wales, 
afterwards Charles II. In 1642, Hobbes published the 
first of his principal works, u De Cive, or Philosophical 
Rudiments Concerning Government and Society." It 
was written to curb the spirit of anarchy, then so ram- 
pant in England, by exposing the inevitable results 
which must of necessity spring from the want of a co- 
herent government amongst a people disunited and 
uneducated. The principles inculcated in this work 
were reproduced in the year 1651, in the £< Leviathan, 
or the Matter, Form, and Power of a Commonwealth, 
Ecclesiastical and Civil; " this, along with a " Treatise 
on Human Nature," and a small work on " The Body 
Politic," form the groundwork of the " selfish schools " 
of moral philosophy. As soon as they were published, 
they were attacked by the clergy of every country in 
Europe. They were interdicted by the Pontiffs of the 
Roman and Greek Church, along with the Protestants 
scattered over Europe, and the Episcopal authorities 
of England. Indeed, to such an extent did this per- 
secution rise, that even the royalist exiles received 
warning that there was no chance for their ostracism 
being removed, unless " the unclean thing (Hobbes) 
was put away from their midst." The young prince, 
intimidated by those ebullitions of vengeance against 
his tutor, was obliged to withdraw his protection from 
him, and the old man, then near seventy years of age, 



THOMAS HOBBES. 



3 



was compelled to escape from Paris by night, pursued 
by his enemies, who, according to Lord Clarendon, 
tracked his footsteps from France. Fortunately for 
Hobbes, he took refuge with his old protectors, the Dev- 
onshire family, who were too powerful to be wantonly 
insulted. While residing at Chatsworth, he would no 
doubt acutely feel the loss of Descartes, the Cardinal 
de Richelieu, and Gassendi ; in the place of those 
men he entered into a warm friendship with Cowley, 
the poet, Selden, Harvey, the discoverer of the circu- 
lation of the blood, Charles Blount, and the witty Sir 
Thomas Brown. # 

In 1654, he published a " Letter upon Liberty and 
Necessity; " this brief tractate is unsurpassed in Free- 
thought literature for its clear, concise, subtle, and 
demonstrative proofs of the self-determining power of 
the will, and the truth of philosophical necessity. All 
subsequent writers on this question have largely avail- 
ed themselves of Hobbes's arguments, particularly the 
pamphleteers of Socialism. It is a fact no less true 
than strange, that Communism is derived from the 
system of Hobbes, which has always been classed 
along with that of Machiavelli, as an apology for des- 
potism. The grand peculiarity of Hobbes is his meth- 
od. Instead of taking speculation and reasoning upon 
theories, he carried out the inductive system of Bacon 
in its entirety, reasoning from separate generic facts, 
instead of analogically. By this means he narrowed 
the compass of knowledge, and made everything de- 
monstrative that was capable of proof. Belief was con- 
sequently placed upon its proper basis, and a rigid 
analysis separated the boundaries of Knowing and Be- 
ing. Hobbes looked at the great end of existence and 
embodied it in a double axiom. 1st. The desire for 
self-preservation. 2nd. To render ourselves happy. 
From those duplex principles which are inherent in 
all animals, a modern politician has perpetrated a pla- 
titude which represents in a sentence the end and aim 
of all legislation, " the greatest happiness for the great- 
est number. " This is the ultimatum of Hobbes's philo- 



4 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



sophy. Its method of accomplishment was by treating 
society as one large family, with the educated and 
skilled as governors, having under their care the train- 
ing of the nation. All acting from one impulse (self- 
preservation,) and by the conjoint experience of all, 
deriving the greatest amount of happiness from this 
activity. Hobbes opposed the Revolution, because it 
degenerated into a faction; and supported Charles 
Stuart because there were more elements of cohesion 
within his own party, than amongst his enemies. It was 
here where the cry of despotism arose ; the " Round- 
heads 77 seeing they could not detach the ablest men 
from the King's party, denounced tl^ir literary oppo- 
nents as " lovers of Belial, and of tyranny. 77 This was 
their most effective answer to the " Leviathan.' 7 In 
after years, when the Episcopal party no longer stood 
in need of the services of Hobbes, they heaped upon 
him the stigma of heresy, until his ci-devant friends and 
enemies were united in the condemnation of the man 
they most feared. Mr.- Owen, in his scheme of Social- 
ism, took his leading idea on non-responsibility from 
Hobbes's explanation of necessity, and the freedom of 
the will. The old divines had inculcated a doctrine 
to the effect that the " will 77 was a separate entity of 
the human mind, which swayed the whole disposition, 
and was of itself essentially corrupt. Ample testimo- 
ny from the Bible substantiated this position. But in 
the method of Hobbes, he lays down the facts that we 
can have no knowledge without experience, and no 
experience without sensation. The mind therefore is 
composed of classified sensations, united together by 
the law of an association of ideas. This law was first 
discovered by Hobbes, who makes the human will to 
consist in the strongest motive which sways the bal- 
ance on any side. This is the simplest explanation 
which, can be given on a subject more mystified than 
any other in theology. 

A long controversy betwixt Bishop Bramhall, of Lon- 
donderry, followed the publication of Hobbes ; s views 
on Liberty and Necessity. Charles II. on his restora- 



THOMAS HOBBES. 



5 



tion, bestowed an annual pension 'of £100 on Hobbes, 
but this did not prevent the parliament, in 1666, cen- 
suring the " De Give 77 and u Leviathan/'? besides his 
other works. Hobbes also translated the Greek histo- 
rian, Thucydides, Homer's Odyssey, and the Illiad. 
The last years of his life were spent in composing 
"Behemoth; or, a History of the Civil Wars from 
1640 to 1660, 77 which was finished in the year he died, 
but not published until after his death. At the close 
of the year 1679, he was taken seriously ill. At the 
urgent request of some Christians, they were permit- 
ted to intrude their opinions upon his dying bed, tell- 
ing him gravel}* that his illness would end in death, 
and unless he repented, he would go straight to hell. 
Hobbes calmly replied, "I shall be glad then to find 
a hole to creep out of the world/' For seventy years 
he had been a persecuted man, but during that time 
his enemies had paid him that tribute of respect which 
genius always extorts from society. He was a man 
who was hated and dreaded. He had reached the age 
of ninety-two when he died. His words were pregnant 
with meaning ; and he never used an unnecessary 
sentence. A collection of moral apothegms might 
be gathered from his table-talk. When asked why he 
did not read every new book which appeared, he said, 
" If I had read as much as other men, I should have 
been as ignorant/'' His habits were simple ; he rose 
early in the morning, took a long walk through the 
grounds of Chatsworth, and cultivated healthful recre- 
ation. The after part of the day was devoted to study 
and composition. Like Sir Walter Raleigh, he was 
a devoted admirer of the " fragrant herb." Charles 
II. 7 s constant witticism, styled Hobbes as " a bear 
against whom the Church played their young dogs, in 
order to exercise them/ 7 

If there had been a few more similar " bears, 57 the 
priestly " dogs 77 would long since have been exter- 
minated, for none of them escaped unhurt from their 
encounters with the u grizly 77 of Malmesbury, except 
it was in the mathematical disputes with Dr. Wailis. 
1# 



6 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



He was naturally of a timid disposition : this was the 
result of the accident which caused his premature 
birth, and being besides of a reserved character, he 
was ill-fitted to meet the physical rebuffs of the world. 
It is said that he was so afraid of his personal safety, 
that he objected to be left alone in an empty house; 
this charge is to some extent true, but we must look 
to the mitigating circumstances of the case. He was 
a feeble man, turned the age of three-score and ten, 
with all the clergy of England hounding on their 
dupes to murder an old philosopher because he had 
exposed their dogmas. It was but a few years before, 
that Protestants and Papists had complimented each 
other's religion by burning those who were the weak- 
est, and long after Hobbes's death, Protestants mur- 
dered, ruined, disgraced, and placed in the pillory Dis- 
senters and Catholics alike, and Thomas Hobbes had 
positive proof that it was the intention of the Church 
of England to burn him alive, on the stake, a martyr for 
his opinions. This, then, is a sufficient justification 
for Hobbes feeling afraid, and instead of it being 
thrown as a taunt at this illustrious Freethinker, it 
is a standing stigma on those w T ho would re-enact 
the tragedy of persecution, if public opinion would 
allow it. 

Sir James Mackintosh says " The style of Hobbes 
is the very perfection of didactic language. Short, 
clear, precise, pithy, his language never has more than 
one meaning, which never requires a second thought 
to find. By the help of his exact method, it takes so 
firm a hold on the mind, that it will not allow atten- 
tion to slacken. His little tract on human nature has 
scarcely an ambiguous or a needless word. He has 
so great a power of always choosing the most signifi- 
cant term, that he never is reduced to the poor expe- 
dient of using many in its stead. He had so thorough- 
ly studied the genius of the language, and knew so 
well how to steer between pedantry and vulgarity, that 



^ Second Dissertation : Encyclopedia Brit., p. 318. 



THOMAS HOBBES. 



two centuries have not superannuated probably more 
than a dozen of his words. 7 ' 

Lord Clarendon describes the personal character of 
Hobbes as " one for whom he always had a great 
esteem as a man, who besides his eminent parts of 
learning and knowledge, hath been always looked 
upon as a man of probity, and a life free from scandal." 

We now proceed to make a selection of quotations 
from the works of this writer, commencing with those 
on the "Necessity of the Will, ;: in reply to Bishop 
Bramhall. 

u The question is not whether a man be a free agent 
— that is to say, whether he can write, or forbear, 
speak, or be silent, according to his will; but whether 
the will to write, and the will to forbear, come upon 
him according to his will, or according to anything 
else in his own power. I acknowledge this liberty, 
that I can do, if I will, but to say, 1 can will if I will, I 
take to be an absurd speech.*' Further replying to 
BramhalPs argument, that we do not learn the et idea 
of the freedom of the will ;; from our tutors, but we 
know it intuitively, Hobbes says, " It is true very few 
have learned from tutors that a man is not free to 
will; nor do they find it much in books. That they 
find in books that which the poets chaunt in the thea- 
tres, and the shepherds on the mountains, that which 
the pastors teach in the churches, and the doctors in 
the universities; and that which the common people 
in the markets, and all the people do assent unto, is 
the same that I assent unto; namely, that a man hath 
freedom to do if he will; but whether he hath free- 
dom to will, is a question which it seems neither the 

Bishop nor they ever thought of. A wooden top that 

is lashed by the boys, and runs about, sometimes to 
one wall, sometimes to another, sometimes spinning, 
sometimes hitting men on the shins, if it were sensi- 
ble of its own motion, would think it proceeded from 
its own will, unless it felt what lashed it. And is a 
man any wiser when he runs to one place for a beni- 
fice, to another for a bargain, and troubles the world 



8 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



with writing errors, and requiring answers, because 
he thinks he does it without other cause than his own 
will, and seeth.not what are the lashings which cause 
that will!" 

Hobbes casually mentions the subject of " praise or 
dispraise, 77 in reference to the will • those who are old 
enough will remember this was one of the most fre- 
quent subjects of discussion amongst the earlier So- 
cialists. " These depend not at all in the necessity 
of the action praised or dispraised. For what is it 
else to praise, but to say a thing is good? Good, I say, 
for me, or for somebody else, or for the State and Com- 
monwealth. And what is it to say an action is good, 
but to say it is as I would wish, or as another would 
have it, or according to the will of the State — that is 
to say, according to the law? Does my lord think that 
no action could please me, or the commonwealth, that 
should proceed from necessity? Things may be there- 
fore necessary, and yet praiseworthy, as also necessa- 
ry, and yet dispraised, and neither of them both in 
vain ; because praise and dispraise, and likewise re- 
ward and punishment, do, by example, make and 
conform the will to good or evil. It was a very great 
praise, in my opinion, that Vellerius Paterculus gives 
Cato, where he says that he was good by nature, £ et 
quia aliter esse non potuit.' — 'And because he could 
not do otherwise.' 77 This able treatise was reprinted, 
and extensively read about twenty years ago; but, 
like many other of our standard works, it is at present 
out of print. 

The " Leviathan 77 is still readable, a bold masculine 
book. It treats everything in a cool, analytic style. 
The knife of the Socialist is sheathed in vain ; no rhap- 
sody can overturn its impassioned teachings. Rhetoric 
is not needed to embellish the truths he has to por- 
tray, for the wild flowers of genius but too frequently 
hide the yawning chasms in the garden of logic. It 
is not to be expected that this book will be read now 
with the interest with which it was perused two 
centuries ago ; then every statement was impugned. 



THOMAS HOBBES. 



9 



every argument denied, and the very tone of the book 
called forth an interference from parliament to stop 
the progress of its heresies. Now the case is widely 
different, and the general tenor of the treatise is the 
rule in which are illustrated alike the 'works of the 
philosophers and the dreams of the sophists (priests.) 
We give part of the introduction. " Nature (the art 
whereby God hath made and governs the w 7 orld) is, 
by the art of man, as in many other things, so in this 
also, imitated, that it can make an artificial animal. 
For seeing life is but a motion of limbs, the beginning 
whereof is in some principal part within ; why may 
we not say, that all automata (engines that move 
themselves by springs and wheels, as doth a watch) 
have an artificial life ? For what is the heart but a 
spring; and the nerves but so many strings \ and the 
joints but so many wheels, giving motion to the whole 
body, such as was intended by the Artificer 1 Art 
goes yet further, imitating that rational and most ex- 
cellent work of nature, man. For by art is created 
that great leviathan, called a Commonwealth, or State, 
which is but an artificial man though of greater stature 
and strength than the natural, for whose protection 
and defence it was intended, and the sovereignty of 
which is an artificial soul, as giving life and motion to 
the whole body. To describe the nature of this arti- 
ficial man, I will consider 

" 1st. The matter thereof, and the artificer, both 
which is man. 

u 2nd. How, and by what covenants it is made ; what 
are the rights and just power or authority of a sove- 
reign ; and what it is that preserveth and dissolveth it. 

" 3rd. What is a Christian Commonwealth. 

" Lastly, what is the kingdom of darkness. 

" The first chapter treats of ' Senses. 7 Concerning 
the thoughts of man, I will consider them first singly, 
and afterwards in train, or dependence upon one anoth- 
er. Singly, they are every one a representation, or ap- 
pearance, of some quality or accident of a body with- 
out us, which is commonly called an object. Which 



10 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



object worketh on the eyes, ears, and other parts of a 
man's body, and by diversity of working, produceth 
diversity of appearances. The original of them all is 
that which we call sense, for there is no conception in 
a man's mind, which hath not at first totally or by 
parts been begotten upon the organs of sense; the rest 
are derived from that original." 

Speaking of " Imagination," Hobbes says, " That 
when a thing lies still, unless somewhat else stir it, it 
will lie still forever, is a truth no one doubts of. But 
tiiat when a thing is in motion, it will eternally be in 
motion, unless somewhat else stay it, though the rea- 
son be the same — namely, that nothing can change it- 
self — is not so easily assented to. For men measure 
not only other men, but all other things, by them- 
selves; and because they find themselves subject afier 
motion to pain and lassitude, think everything else 
grows weary of motion, and seeks repose of its own 
accord — little considering whether it be not some oth- 
er motion, wherein that desire of rest they find in 
themselves consisteth When a body is once in mo- 
tion, it moveth (unless something else hinder it) eter- 
nally, and whatsoever hindereth it, cannot in an in- 
stant, but in time, and by degrees, quite extinguish 
it ; and as we see in the water, though the wind cease, 
the waves give not over rolling for a long time after; 
so also it happeneth in that motion which is made in 
the internal parts of man, then, when he sees, dreams, 
etc. For after the object is removed, or the eye shut, 
we still retain an image of the thing seen, though 

more obscure than when we see it The decay of 

sense in men waking, is not the decay of the motion 
made in sense, but an obscuring of it. in such manner 
as the light of the sun obscuYeth the light of the stars ; 
which stars do no less exercise their virtue, by which 
they are visible in the day, than in the night. But be- 
cause amongst many strokes which our eyes, ears, and 
other organs receive from external bodies, the predom- 
inant only is sensible ; therefore the light of the sun 
being only predominant, we are not affected with the 



THOMAS KOBBES. 



actions of the stars This decaying sense, when we 

would express the thing itself (I mean fancy itself), we 
call imagination, as I said before, but when we would 
express the Decay, and signify the sense is fading, old, 
and past, it is called Memory ; so that imagination and 
memory are but one thing, which, for divers consider- 
ations, hath divers names.''"* 

Such is the commencement of this celebrated book , 
it is based upon materialism; every argument must 
stand this test upon Hobbes's principles, and character- 
istically are they elaborated. Hobbes (" De Cive ") 
says of the immortality of the soul, "It is a belief 
grounded upon other men's sayings, that they knew it 
supernaturally ; or that they knew those who knew 
them, that knew others, that knew it supernaturally." 
A sparkling sneer, and perhaps the truest answer to so 
universal an error. Dugald Stewart, in his analysis of 
the works of Hobbes, says, f " The fundamental doc- 
trines inculcated in the political works of Hobbes, are 
contained in the following propositions : — All men are 
by nature equal, and, prior to government, they had 
all an equal right to enjoy the good things of this 
world. Man, too, is by nature, a solitary and purely 
selfish animal; the social union being entirely an inter- 
ested ieague, suggested by prudential views of person- 
al advantage. The necessary consequence is, that a 
state of nature must be a state of perpetual warfaie, 
in which no individual has any other means of safety 
than his own strength or ingenuity • and in which there 
is no room for regular industry, because no secure en- 
joyment of its fruits. In confirmation of this view of 
the origin of society, Hobbes appeals to facts falling 
daily within the cycle of our experience. Does not 
a man (he asks) when taking a journey, arm himself, 
and seek to go well accompanied 1 When going to 
sleep, does he not lock his doors 1 " Nay, even in his 
own house, does he not lock his chests 1 Does he not 

* Leviathan. Ed. 1651. 

f Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical Science, p. 41 



12 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



there accuse mankind by his action, as I do by my 
words ? For the sake of peace and security, it is ne- 
cessary that each individual should surrender a part of 
his natural right, and be contented with such a share 
of liberty as he is willing to allow to others : or. to use 
Hobbes's own language. •• every man must divest him- 
self of the right he has to all things by nature : the 
right of all men to all things, being in enect no better 
than if no man had a right to anything.*-' In conse- 
quence of this transference of natural rights to an in- 
dividual, or to a body of individuals, the multitude be- 
come one person, under the name of a State, or Repub- 
lic, by which person the common will and power are 
exercised for the common defence. The ruling power 
cannot be withdrawn from those to whom it has been 
committed : nor can they be punished for misgovern- 
meut. The interpretation of the Jaws is to be sought, 
not from the comments of philosophers, but from the 
authority of the ruler : otherwise society would every 
moment be in danger of resolving itself into the dis- 
cordant elements of which it was at first composed. — 
The will of the magistrate, therefore, is to be regarded 
as the ultimate standard of right and wrong, and his 
voice to be listened to by every citizen as the voice of 
conscience." 

Such are the words of one of Hobbes's most power- 
ful opponents. Dr. YVarbur.eii says. •• The philosopher 
of Maimesbury was the terror of the last age. as Tin- 
dal and Collins are of this. The press sweats with 
controversy : and every young churchman militant 
would try his arms in thundering on Hobbes's steel 
cap.*' This is a modest acknowledgment of the pow- 
er of Hobbes, from the most turbulent divine of the 
eighteenth century. 

Victor Comyin gives the following as his view of the 
philosophy of Hobbes : — •• There is no other certain 
evidence than that of the senses. The evidence of the 
senses attests only the existence of ::. : :es : then there 
is no existence save that o: bodies, and philosophy is 
only the science c: o o hies. 



THOMAS HOBBES. 



13 



C( There are two sorts of bodies : 1st, Natural bodies, 
which are the theatre of a multitude of regular phe- 
nomena, because they take place by virtue of fixed 
laws, as the bodies with which physics are occupied ; 
2nd, Moral and political bodies, societies which con- 
stantly change and are subject to variable laws. 

" Hobbes's system of physics is that of Democritus, 
the atomistic and corpuscular of the Ionic school. 

" His metaphysics are its corollary; all the phenom- 
ena which pass in the consciousness have their source 
in the organization, of which the consciousness in itself 
is simply a result. All the ideas come from the senses. 
To think, is to calculate • and intelligence is nothing 
else than an arithmetic. As we do not calculate with 
out signs, we do not think without words ; the truth of 
the thought is in the relation of the words among them- 
selves, and metaphysics are reduced to a perfect lan- 
guage. Hobbes is completely a nominalist. With 
Hobbes there are no other than contingent ideas ; the 
finite alone can be conceived ; the infinite is only a 
negation of the finite ) beyond that it is a mere word 
invented to honor a being whom faith alone can reach. 
The idea of good and evil has no other foundation than 
agreeable or disagreeable sensations ■ to agreeable or 
disagreeable sensation it is impossible to apply any 
other law than escape from the one and search after 
the other; hence the morality of Hobbes, which is the 
foundation of his politics. Man is capable of enjoying 
and of suffering j his only law is to suffer as little, and 
enjoy as much, as possible. Since such is his only 
law, he has all the rights that this law confers upon 
him ) he may do anything for his preservation and his 
happiness ; he has the right to sacrifice everything to 
himself. Behold, then, men upon this earth, where 
the objects of desire are not superabundant, all possess- 
ing equal rights to whatever may be agreeable or use- 
ful to them, by virtue of the same capacity for enjoy- 
ment and suffering. This is a state of nature, which 
is nothing less than a state of war, the anarchy of the 
passions, a combat in which every man is arrayed 
2 



14 



B10GKAPHY OF 



against his neighbor. But this state being opposed to 
the happiness of the majority of individuals who share 
it, utility, the offspring of egotism itself, demands its 
exchange for another, to wit, the social state. The so- 
cial state is the institution of a public power, stronger 
tha/i aH individuals, capable of making peace succeed 
war, and imposing on all the accomplishment of what- 
ever it shall have judged to be useful, that is, just. ;? 

Before we dismiss the father of Freethought from 
our notice, there remains a tribute of respect to be 
paid to one whom it is our duty to associate with the 
author of the " Leviathan, 7 ' and who has but just pass- 
ed away — one man, amongst the British aristocracy, 
with the disposition of a tribune of the people, coupled 
with thoughts at once elevated and free, and a position 
which rendered him of essential service to struggling 
opinion. This man saw the greatness, the profound 
depth, the attic style, and the immense importance of 
the works of Hobbes, along with their systematic de- 
preciation by those whose duty it should be to explain 
them, especially at a time when those works were not 
reprinted, and the public were obliged to glean their 
character from the refutations (so called) by mangled 
quotations 1 , and a distorted meaning. Impelled by this 
thought,' and anxious to protect the memory of a phil- 
osopher, his devoted disciple, at a cost of £10,000, 
translated the Latin, and edited the English works of 
Hobbes, in a manner worthy alike of the genius of the 
author, and the discernment of his editor. For this 
kindness, a seat in Parliament was lost by the organi- 
zation of the clergy in Cornwall. The name of this 
man was Sir William Molesworth. Let Freethinkers 
cherish the memory of their benefactor. 

We now take our leave of Thomas Hobbes. He had 
not the chivalry of Herbert; the vivacity of Raleigh ; 
the cumulative power of Bacon; or the winning policy 
of Locke. If his physical deformities prevented him 
from being as daring as Vane, he was as bold in thought 
and expression as either Descartes, or his young friend 
Blount. He gave birth to the brilliant constellation of 



THOMAS HOBBES. 



15 



genius in the time of Queen Anne. He did not live 
to see his system extensively promulgated : but his 
principles moulded the character of the men who 
formed the revolution of 1688, equally as much as 
Hume established the Scotch and German schools of 
philosophy; and Voltaire laid the train by which the 
French Revolution was proclaimed. Peace to his 
memory! It was a stormy struggle during his life; 
its frowns cannot hurt him now. Could we believe in 
the idea of a future life, we should invoke his blessings 
on our cause. That cause which for near two hundred 
years has successfully struggled into birth, to youth, 
and maturity. Striking down in its onward course 
superstitions which hath grown with centuries, and 
where it does not exterminate them, it supplies a purer 
atmosphere, and extracts the upas-sting which has laid 
low so many, and which must yet be finally extermi- 
nated. The day is rapidly dawning when our only 
deities will be the works of genius, and our only prayer 
the remembrance of our most illustrious chiefs. 

A. C. 



BIOGRAPHY 

OF 

LOBD BOLINGBROKE. 



Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke, was born in 
his family seat at Battersea, on the 1st of October. 
1672 ; and died there on November 15th, 1751, in his 
79th year. He was educated by a clergyman in an 
"unnatural manner, and speedily developed himself ac- 
cordingly. When he left Oxford, he was one of the 
handsomest men of the day — his majestic figure, re- 
fined address, dazzling wit, and classic eloquence, 
made him irresistibly the " first gentleman in Eu- 
rope.^ Until his twenty-fourth year, he was renown- 
ed more for the graces of his person, and the fascina- 
tion of his wild exploits, rather than possessing a due 
regard to his rank and abilities. His conduct, how- 
ever, was completely changed when he became a 
Member of Parliament. The hopes of his friends 
were resuscitated when they discovered the aptitude 
for business — the ready eloquence, and the sound rea- 
soning of the once wild St. John. He soon became 
the hardest worker and the leader of the House of 
Commons. The expectations of the nation rose high 
when night after night he spoke with the vivacity of 
a poet, and the profundity of a veteran statesman on 
public affairs. In 1704, he received the seals as Secre- 
tary-of-War, and was mainly instrumental in gaining 
Marlborough's victories, by the activity with which 
he supplied the English General with munitions of 
war. On the ascendency of the Whigs, St. John re- 



18 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



signed his office, and retired into privacy for two 
years, when the Whig administration was destroyed, 
and St. John re-appeared as Secretary for Foreign Af- 
fairs. His greatest work now was the negotiation of 
the treaty of Utrecht. This treaty was signed by St. 
John (then Lord Bolingbroke,) he being sent to Paris 
as the British Plenipotentiary, and was hailed by the 
Parisians as a guardian angel. To such an extent 
was this feeling manifested, that when he visited the 
theatres every one rose to welcome him. So long as 
Queen Anne lived, Bolingbroke's influence was para- 
mount, but associated with him was the Earl of Ox- 
ford, in opposition to the Whig party, and serious dif- 
ferences had arisen between the rivals. Oxford was 
dismissed four days before the Queen's death, and Bo- 
lingbroke officiated in his place, until Oxford's vacancy 
was filled, which all expected would be given to him- 
self. A stormy debate in the Privy Council so agitated 
the Queen, that it shortened her life, and the Council 
recommended the Earl of Shrewsbury as Premier, and 
with him the Whigs. 

With the accession of George, came the impeach- 
ment of Bolingbroke by the victorious Whigs. Know- 
ing that it was their intention to sacrifice him to party 
revenge, and that his accusers would likewise act as 
his judges, he wisely withdrew himself to France, 
The Pretender held a mimic court at Avignon, and a 
debating society at Lorraine, eniitled a Parliament. 
He offered Bolingbroke the office of Secretary of State, 
which was accepted by him ; and it was only at this 
time that the emanations of the exiled Stuart's cabinet 
possessed either a solidity of aim, or a definite pur- 
pose. If Louis XIV. had lived longer, he might have 
assisted the Pretender, but with his death expired the 
hopes of that ill-fated dyna.sty. Bolingbroke strove to 
husband the means which the Chevalier's friends had 
collected, but the advice of the Duke of Orrnond was 
listened to in preference to Bolingbroke's. The re- 
sults which Bolingbroke foretold — proceeding rashly 
and failing ignominously — both occurred. The insur 



LORD ROLINGBROKE. 



19 



rection broke out, and failed — no other end could have 
been anticipated. Intrigues were fast coiling them- 
selves around the secretary; he was openly blamed 
for the reverses in Scotland — but he was alike careless 
of their wrath or its issue. One morning Ormond wait- 
ed upon him with two slips of paper from the Preten- 
der, informing him that his services were no longer 
required. After his dismissal he was impeached by the 
lackeys of the Pretender under seven heads, which 
were widely distributed throughout Europe. There 
is this anomaly in the life of Bolingbroke, witnessed 
in no other Englishman : In one year he was the most 
powerful man in England — Secretary of State — an 
exile — and then in the same year he occupied a simi- 
lar office to one who aimed at the English throne, and 
was impeached by both parties. 

For several years he occupied himself in France 
with philosophical pursuits — until the year 1723 — 
when he received a pardon, which allowed him to 
return to England, but still his sequestered estates 
were not returned, and this apology for a pardon was 
negotiated by a bribe of £11,000 to the German Duch- 
ess of Kendal — one of the king's mistresses. 

Alexander Pope was Bolingbroke's constant corres- 
pondent. Pope had won the applause of England by 
his poems, and was then considered the arbiter of 
genius. Voltaire occupied a similar position in France. 
Since Pope first laid the copy of his greatest epic at 
the feet of Bolingbroke, and begged of him to correct 
its errors, he had gradually won himself that renown 
which prosperity has endorsed, But what a unity in 
divergence did those philosophers present! The calm 
moralism of Pope, his sweet and polished rhyme, con- 
trasted with the fiery wit and hissing sarcasm of the 
Frenchman,- more trenchant than Pope's, yet wanting 
his sparkling epigrams. The keen discernment of both 
these men saw in Bolingbroke a master, and they 
ranked by his side as twin apostles of a new and Jiving 
faith. It was the penetration of true greatness which 
discerned in the English peer that sublimity of inteL 



20 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



lect they possessed themselves, without the egotism 
of an imbecile rival. Bolingbroke had cherished the 
ethics of one,, and restrained the rancor of the other — • 
and both men yielded to him whose system they wor- 
shipped • and this trinity of Deists affords the noblest 
example which can be evoked to prove the Harmony 
of Reason amidst the most varied accomplishment-. 
Although Pope's name occurs but seldom in the his- 
tory of Freethought — while that of Bolingbroke is em- 
blazoned in all its glory, and Voltaire is enshrined as 
its only Deity — yet we must not forget that what is 
now known as the only collection of St. John's works 
(the edition in five volumes by Mallet.) were written 
for the instruction of Pope — sent to him in letters — 
discussed and agreed to by him — so that the great 
essayist is as much implicated in them as the author 
of the Dictionary. It is said, "In his society these 
two illustrious men felt and acknowledged a superior 
genius; and if he had no claim to excellence in poet- 
ry — the art in which they were so pre-eminent — he 
surpassed them both in the philosophy they so much 
admired." 

For ten years after this period, he devoted himself 
to various political writings, which were widely circu- 
lated • but we must waive the pleasure at present of 
analyzing those, and confine our attention to the alli- 
ance between Pope and Bolingbroke, in the new 
school of philosophy. 

Bolingbroke's principal friends were Pope, Swift, 
Mallet, Wyndam, and Atterbury. The first three were 
most in his confidence in regard to religion : and 
although Pope was educated a Roman Catholic, and 
occasionally conformed to that hierarchy (and like Vol- 
taire, for peace, died in it.) yet the philosophical letters 
w 7 hich passed between Pope and St. John, fully estab- 
lished him as a consistent Deist — an honor to which 
Swift also attained, although being a dignitary of the 
Church : but if doubts arise on the subject, they can 
easily be dispelled. General Grimouard, in his " Essai 
sur Bolingbroke," says that " he was intimate with 



LORD BOLINGBROKE. 



21 



the widow of Mallet, the poet, who was a lady of 
much talent and learning, and had lived upon terms 
of friendship with Bolingbroke, Swift, Pope, and many 
other distinguished characters of 'the day, who fre- 
quently met at her house." The General adds, that 
the Jady has l^een frequently heard to declare, that 
these men were all equally deistical in their senti- 
ments (que c'etait une societe de purs deistes;) that 
Swift from his clerical character was a little more re- 
served than the others, but he was evidently of the 
same sentiments at bottom. 

There is a remarkable passage in one of Pope's let- 
ters to Swift, which seems rather corroborative of the 
General's. He is inviting Swift to come and visit him. 
"The day is come," he says, "which I have often 
wished, but never thought to see, when every mortal 
I esteem is of the same sentiments in politics and re- 
ligion." Dr. Warton remarks upon this paragraph 
"At this time therefore (1733) he (Pope) and Boling- 
broke were of the same sentiment in religion as well 
as politics;"* and Pope writing to Swift is proof suffi- 
cient that Bolingbroke, Swift, and himself, were unit- 
ed in opinions. Wherever Swift's name is known, it 
is associated with his spleen on account of his not 
being elevated to the Episcopal Bench, when he was 
promised a vacancy, which was reserved for*him • but 
Queen Anne absolutely refused to confer such a dig- 
nity upon the author of "'Gulliver's Travels" — that 
profound satire upon society and religion • and this 
occurring at a time when his energetic services were 
so much needed in defence of the government he so 
assisted by pamphleteering, satire, and wholesale lam- 
poons. Mr. Cooke says, "The Earl of Nottingham, in 
the debate upon the Dissenters' Bill, chiefly founded 
his objection to the provision that the Bishops should 
have the only power of licensing tutors, upon the like- 
lihood there was that a man who was in a fair way for 
becoming a Bishop, was hardly suspected of being a 



* Cook's Life of Bolingbroke, 2nd -vol., p. 97.. 



22 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



Christian.'' This pointed allusion to Swift pa>sed 
without comment or reply in a public assembly, com- 
posed in a great measure of his private friends and 
associates. This seems to intimate that the opinion 
of his contemporaries was not very strong in favor of 
Swift's religious principles/'" This may suffice to 
prove the unanimity of sentiment existing among this 
brilliant coterie — one a political Churchman — another 
the greatest poet of his age — the third, the most ac- 
complished statesman of his country. Although they 
were united in religious conviction, it would have 
been certain ruin to any of the confederates if the 
extent of their thoughts had reached the public ear. 
The Dean wrote for the present — the poet for his age 
—and the peer for the immediate benefit of his friends, 
and a record for the future. But they were all agreed 
that some code of ethics should be promulgated, which 
should embody the positive speculations of Boling- 
broke. with the easy grace of Pope — the elaborate re- 
search of the philosopher with the rhetoric of the poet. 
Swift coalesced in this idea, but was, to a certain ex- 
tent, ignorant of its subsequent history. It was not 
thought prudent to trust Mallet and others with the 
secret. For this purpose the " Essay of Man" was 
designed on the principles elaborated by Bolingbroke 
in his private letteis to Pope. It was Bolingbroke who 
drew up the scheme, mapped out the arguments, and 
sketched the similes — it was Pope who embellished 
its beauties, and turned it into rhyme. Doctor War- 
ton, the editor of Pope, also proves this : — " Lord 
Bathurst told the Doctor that he had read the whole 
of the - Essay on Man ; in the handwriting of Boling- 
broke. and drawn up in a series of propositions which 
Pope was to amplify, versify, and to illustrate.'" Jf 
further proofs are required, that Bolingbroke was not 
only a co-partner but coadjutor with Pope, it is found 
in the opening of the poem, where the poet uses the 
plural in speaking of Bolingbroke — 

" Awake, my Sr. John, leave all meaner tilings 
To low ambition, and the pride of kings. 



LORD BOLIXGBROKE. 



23 



Laugh when we must, be candid when you can> 
And vindicate the ways of God to man." 

This is sufficient to prove the partnership in the poem, 
and from the generally acknowledged fact of his con- 
nection, we have no hesitation in declaring that this 
poem is the grand epic of Deism, and is as much the 
offspring of Bolingbroke ; as his own ideas when enun- 
ciated by others. There is not a single argument in 
the Essay but what is much more elaborated in the 
works of Bolingbroke, while every positive argument 
is reduced to a few poetic maxims in the Essav. We 
may as well look here for Bolingbroke ; s creed, rather 
than amongst his prose works. There is. however, 
this difference, that in the Es.-ay there is laid down an 
ethical scheme of po.-itivism — i. e.. of everything in 
morals which can be duly tested and nothing more : 
while in the prose writings of Bolingbroke, the nega- 
tive side of theology is discussed with an amount of 
erudition which has never been surpassed by any of 
the great leaders of Freethought. The first proposi- 
tion of the Essay is based on a postulate, upon which 
the whole reasoning is built. Overthrow this substra- 
tum, and the philosophy of the Essay is overturned — 
admit it, and its truth is evident j it is — 

11 What can we reason but from what we know ? " 

This is equivalent to saying that we can only reason 
concerning man as a finite part of an infinite existence, 
and we can only predicate respecting what comes un- 
der the category of positive knowledge ; we are therefore 
disabled from speculating in any theories which have 
for a basis opposition to the collected experience of 
mankind. This was a position laid down by Boling- 
broke to escape all the historical arguments which 
some men deduce from alleged miraculous agency in 
the past, or problematical prophecy in the future. It 
likewise shows the untenable nature of all analogy, 
which presumes to trace an hypothetical first cause, 
or personal intelligence; to account for a supposed 



24 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



origin of primeval existence, by which nature was 
caused, or forms of being first evolved. Although it 
may be deemed inconsistent with the philosophy of 
Bolingbroke to admit a God in the same argument as 
the above, we must not forget that in all speculative 
reasoning there must be an assumption of some kind, 
which ought to be demonstrated by proof, or a suitable 
equivalent in the form of universal consent. Yet in 
the case of the God of the Essay, we look in vain for 
the attributes with which Theists love to clothe their 
God, and we can but perceive inexorable necessity in 
the shape of rigid and unswerving laws, collected in 
one focus by Pope, and dignified with the name of 
God • so that the difference betwixt a Deist of the old, 
and an Atheist of the modern school, is one of mere 
words — they both commence with an assumption, the 
Atheist only defining his terms more strictly, the sub- 
ject-matter in both instances being the same. The 
only difference being, the one deceives himself with a 
meaningless word, the other is speechless on what he 
cannot comprehend. The Essay shows a scheme of 
universal gradation, composed of a series of links, 
which are one entwined within the other — every rock 
being placed in its necessitated position — every plant 
amidst its growth bearing an exoteric similitude to 
itself — every animal, from the lowest quadruped to the 
highest race of man, occupying a range of climate 
adapted to its requirements. The Essay here is scien- 
tifically correct, and agrees with the ablest writers on 
necessity. A German philosopher, renowned alike for 
rigid analysis and transcendent abilities as a success- 
ful theorist, observes, u When I contemplate all things 
as a whole, I perceive one nature, one force : when I re- 
gard them as individuals, many forces which develop 
themselves according to their inward laws, and pass 
through all the forms of which they are capable, and 
all the objects in nature are but those forces under 
certain limitations. Every manifestation of every in- 
dividual power of nature is determined partly by itself, 
partly by its own preceding manifestations, and partly 



LORD BOLINGBROKE. 



2b 



by the manifestations of all other powers of nature with 
which it is connected; but it is connected with all, 
for nature is one connected whole. Its' manifestations 
are, therefore, strictly necessary, and it is absolutely 
impossible to be other than as it is. In every moment 
of her duration nature is one connected whole, in every 
moment must every individual be what it is, because 
all others are what they are, and a single grain of sand 
could not be moved from its place, without, however 
imperceptibly to us, changing something throughout 
all parts of the immeasurable whole. Every moment 
of duration is determined by all past moments, and 
will determine all future movements, and even the 
position of a grain of sand cannot be conceived other 
than it is, without supposing other changes to an in- 
definite extent. Let us imagine that grain of sand to 
be lying some few feet further inland than it actually 
does ; then must the storm- wind that drove it in from 
the sea-shore have been stronger than it actually was; 
then must the preceding state of the atmosphere, by 
which this wind was occasioned, and its degree of 
strength being determined, have been different from 
what it actually was, and the preceding changes which 
gave rise to this particular weather, and so on. We 
must suppose a different temperature from that which 
really existed — a different constitution of bodies which 
influenced that temperature. How can we know that 
in such a state of weather we have been supposing, in 
order to carry this grain of sand a few yards further, 
some ancestors of yours might not have perished from 
hunger, cold, or heat, long before the birth of that son 
from whom you are descended, and thus you might 
never have been at all, and all that you have done, 
and all that you ever hope to do, must have been hin- 
dered, in order that a grain of sand might lie in a dif- 
ferent place. 77 ^ The whole of the first book is devoted 
to the necessitated condition of man in relation to the 
universe. In one portion there is a succession of beau- 

* Fichte's 11 Destination of Man," pp. S, 9 
3 



2rj 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



tiful similes, portraying the blissful state we are in, 
instead of being gifted with finer sensibilities, or a pre- 
science, which would be a curse. 

Pope, although an ardent disciple of Bolingbroke, 
did not entirely forsake the prejudices of childhood ; 
he still indulged in a bare hope of a future life, which 
his master, with more consistency, suppressed. So 
that when the poet rhymed the propositions of St. 
John, he pointed them with " hope ;; in an eternal 
future ; for that speculation which was still probability 
in his day, is now nearly silenced by modern science. 
But we must not confound the ideas of futurity, which 
some of the Deists expressed, with those of Christiani- 
ty. They were as different as the dreams of Christ 
and Plato were dissimilar. Pope " hoped " for a fu- 
ture life of intellectual enjoyment devoid of evil, but 
the heaven of the gospel is equally as necessary to be 
counterbalanced by a hell, as the existence of a God 
requires the balancing support of a devil. We there- 
fore can sympathise with the description of a heaven, 
the poor Indian looked for : — 

u Some safer world in depths of woods embraced, 
Some happier island in the watery waste ; 
Where slaves once more their .native land behold, 
Nor fiends torment, nor Christians thirst for gold. 
To be — contents his natural desires, 
He asks no angels' wings, no seraphs' fires, 
But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, 
His faithful dog should bear him company. ,, 

Pope durst not emphatically deny the future-life theo- 
ry, so he attacked it by elaborating a physical in- 
stead of a spiritual heaven. So heterodox a notion of 
the Indian's future sports, is not to be found in theolo- 
gy, especially as he pictures the Indian's sports with 
his dog. Here was a double blow aimed at Christian- 
ity by evolving a " positive 73 idea of future pleasures, 
and the promulgation of sentiments anti-Christian. — 
Again he attacks them for unwarrantable speculation 
in theology, when he says — 



LORD BOLIKGBROKE. 



27 



61 In pride, in reasoning pride our error lies." 

This is a corollary to the first proposition, " What can 
we reason but from what we know? ;? The only pre- 
dicate we can draw from this is, the undoubted fact 
we have no right to profess to hold opinions of that, 
upon which we cannot have any positive proof. The 
last line of the first book* has been generally thought 
open to attack. It relates to necessity — " Whatever 
is, is right " — and is not to be viewed in relation to 
society as at present constituted, but to the physical 
universe. 

The second book deals with man in relation to him- 
self as an individual ; the third as a member of socie- 
ty, and the last in respect to happiness. Throughout 
the whole Essay the distinctions arising from nature 
and instinct are defined and defended with vigor and 
acuteness. Both are proved to be equally great in 
degree, in spite of the hints constantly thrown out in 
reterence to " God-like Reason versus Blind Instinct.' 7 
We confess our inability to discern the vaunted supe- 
riority of the powers of reason over those of its blinder 
sister. We see in the one matchless wisdom — pro* 
found decision — unfailing resource — a happy content- 
ment as unfeigned as it is natural. On the other hand, 
we see temerity allied with cowardice — a man seek- 
ing wisdom on a watery plank, when every footmark 
may serve him for a funeral effigy; political duplicity 
arising from his confined generalization of facts; a de- 
sire to do right, but checked by accident and cunning 
— everywhere uneasy — always fatal. If the Christians 7 
fables were true, we might say that Adam and Eve 
were originally in possession of Instinct and Reason, 
and fell by listening to the promptings of volition, in- 
stead of the unswerving powers of the brutes, and for 
a hereditary punishment was cursed with a superabun- 
dance of reason. For with all our intellectual preroga- 
tives, we have yet failed to arrive at a definite course 
of action which should influence our conduct. The 
Essay, speaking of Government by Christianity, says :— 



28 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



" Force first made conquest, and that conquest law, 
Till superstition taught the tyrant awe. 

*^f" •¥? "fa 

She taught the weak to bend, the proud to pray, 
To power unseen, and mightier far than they : 
She, from the rending earth and bursting skies, 
Saw Gods descend and fiends infernal rise. 
Here fixed the dreadful, there the blessed abodes, 
Here made her devils, and Veak hope her Gods. 
Gods partial, changeful, passionate, unjust. 
Whose attributes were rage, revenge, or lust. 
Such as the souls of cowards might conceive, 
And formed like tyrants • tyrants would believe. 
Zeal then, not charity, became the guide, 
And Hell was built in spite, and Heaven in pride." 

A ad again — 

" For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, 
His can't be wrong whose life is in the right." 

The Essay concludes with an invocation to Bolingbroke 
— whom Pope styles, " my guide, philosopher, and 
friend." Such is the conclusion of the most remark- 
able ethical poem in any language. It is the Iliad of 
English Deism. Not a single allusion to Christ — a 
future state of existence given only as a faint proba- 
bility — the whole artificial state of society satirized — 
prayer ridiculed, and government of every kind de- 
nounced which does not bring happiness to the people. 
The first principle laid down is the corner-stone of 
materialism — " What can we reason but from what 
we know!" — which is stated, explained, and defend- 
ed with an axiomatic brevity rarely equalled, never 
surpassed — with a number of illustrations comprising 
the chef d/omvre of poetic grace, and synthical melody 
combined with arguments as cogent as the examples 
are perfect. 

It stands alone in its impregnability — a pile of litera- 
ry architecture like the if Novum Organan 5? of Bacon, 
the "Principia" of Newton, or the Essay of Locke. 
The facades of its noble colonnades are seen extending 
their wings through the whole sweep of history, con- 



LORD BOLINGBROKE. 



29 



stituting a pantheon of morals, where every nation 
sends its devotees to admire and worship. 

Let us now turn to the philo?ophical works of Boling- 
broke. By the will of Bolingbroke he devised this 
portion of his manuscripts to David Mallet, the poet, 
for publication. The noble Lord's choice is open to 
censure here. He knew the character of Mallet, and 
could expect little justice /rom him who should have 
been his biographer. The MSS. were all prepared for 
the pre.-s long before Bolingbroke died. In this original 
state, they were addressed to Pope. When published 
they appeared as 11 Letters or Essays addressed to Alex- 
ander Pope, Esq. 7? The political friends of St. John 
wished their suppression, fearing that they would in- 
jure his reputation by being anti-Christian. A large 
bribe was offered by Lord Curnbur if Mallet would de- 
stroy the works. He, no doubt, thinking more money 
could be made by their publication, issued them to 
the world in 1754, but without giving a biography or 
notes to the books, his work being simply correcting 
the errors of the press. True, there existed no stipula- 
tion that he should write the Life of Bolingbroke, but 
no one can doubt that such was the intention of the 
statesman, when he bequeathed to him property which 
realized £10,000 in value. Every one knows the huge 
witticism of Dr. Johnson, who accused Bolingbroke of 
cowardice, under the simile of loading a blunderbuss, 
and then leaving a Scotchman half-a-crown to fire it 
when he was out of the way. When those posthum- 
ous works appeared, the grand jury of Westminster pre- 
sented them to the judicial authorities as subversive 
of religion, morality, and government. They were 
burnt by the common hangman. 

With difficulty we give a quotation from Boling- 
broke's ideas of a Future Life. In vol. IV., p. 348, he 
says, " I do not say, that to believe in a future state is 
to believe in a vulgar error; but this I say, it cannot 
be demonstrated by reason : it is not in the nature of 
it capable of demonstration, and no one ever returned 
that irremediable way to give us an assurance of the 
fact." 3* 



30 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



Again, ne speaks personally in reference to himself, 
Pope, and Wollastou, whom he had been opposing : — 

iC He alone is happy, and he is truly so, who can 
say, Welcome life whatever it brings ! welcome death 
whatever it is ! If the former, we change our state. 

% % * # # That yon, or I, or even Wollaston 
himself, should return to the earth from whence we 
came, to ihe dirt under our feet, or be mingled with 
the ashes of those herbs and plants from which we 
drew nutrition whilst we lived, does not seem any in- 
dignity offered to our nature, since it is common to all 
the animal kind : and he who complains of it as such, 
does not seem to have been set, by his reasoning facul- 
ties, so far above them in life, as to deserve not to be 
levelled with them at death. We were like them be- 
lore our birth, that is nothing. So we shall be on this 
hypothesis, like them too after our death, that is noth- 
ing. What hardship is done us ! Unless it be a hard- 
ship, that we are not immortal because we wish to be 
so, and Matter ourselves with that expectation. 

4; If this hypothesis were true, which 1 am far from 
assuming, I should have no reason to complain, though 
having tasted existence, I might abhor non-entity. 
Since, then, the first cannot be demonstrated by rea- 
son, nor the second be reconciled to my inward senti- 
ment, let me take refuge in resignation at the last, as 
in every other act of my life : let oihers be solicitous 
about their future state, and frighten or flatter them- 
selves as prejudice, ima<zinati ve bad health — nay, a 
lowering day, or a clear sunshine shall inspire them to 
do: let the tranquillity of my mind rest on this im- 
movable rock, that my future, as well as my present 
state, are ordered by an Almighty Creator, and that 
they are equally foolish, and presumptuous, who make 
imaginary excursions into futuriiy, and who complain 
of the present." 7 

Lord Bolingbroke died in the year 1751, after a long 
and painful illness, occasioned by the ignorance of a 
quack. While lying on his death-bed he composed a 
discourse, entitled " Considerations on the State of the 



LORD BOLING BROKE. 



31 



Nation. ?; He died in peace — in the knowledge of the 
truth of the principles he had advocated, and with that 
calm serenity of mind, which no one can more fully 
experience than the honest Freethinker. He was 
buried in the church at Battersea. He was a man of 
the highest rank of genius, far from being immaculate 
in his youth, brave, sincere, a true fiiend, possessed 
of rich learning, a clear and sparkling style, a great 
wit, and the most powerful Freethinker of his age. 

A. C. 



BIOGRAPHY 

OF 

CONDOHCET. 



In the history of the French Revolution, we read of 
a multitude of sections, each ruled by a man, and each 
man representing a philosophy. Not that each man 
was the contriver of a system, but the effervescence 
of one. As true as Robespierre was the advocate of 
Rousseau, as Marat was the Wilkes of Paris, as Danton 
was the Paine, and Mirabeau the expediency-politician 
of reflex England, so true is it that Condorcet was the 
type of the philosophic Girondists, the offspring of Vol- 
taire. The two great schools of metaphysics fought 
out the battle on the theatre of the Constituent Assem- 
bly, in a spirit as bitterly uncompromising as when 
under different phraseological terms, they met in the 
arguments of the School-men, or further in the womb 
of hisiory, on the forum of Athens. It is a fact no less 
true than singular, that after each mental excitement 
amongst the savans, whether in ancient or in modem 
times, after the literary shock has passed away, the 
people are innoculated with the strife, and, destitute 
of the moderation of their leaders, fight for that doc- 
trine which they conceive oppresses their rights. The 
French Revolution was one of those struggles. It gave 
rise to epoch-men. Not men who originated a doctrine, 
but those who attempted to carry it out. Condorcet 
was one of those men. He was the successor of Vol- 
taire in the Encyclopaedic warfare. The philosopher 
amongst the orators. Destitute of the amazing versa- 



34 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



fcility of the sage of Ferney, he imbibed the prophet's 
antipathy to superstition, and after a brilliant career, 
fell in the wild onslaught of passion. The Revolution 
was the arena on which was fought the battle involv- 
ing the question whether Europe was to be ruled for a 
century by Christianity or Infidelity. The irresolution 
of Robespierre lost to us the victory of the first passage 
of arms, equally as decisive as Lafayette in 1830. and 
Lamartine in 1848, being Liberals, lost in eacn case 
the social Republic by their vacillating policy. The 
true Freethinkers of that a^e were the Girondi;-ts. 
With their heroic death, the last barrier to despotism 
disappeared; the Consulate became the only logical 
path for gilded chains and empire. With the ostra- 
cism of the Republicans by Napoleon the Little, a 
parallel is completed between the two eras of French 
history. 

The family name of Condorcet was Caritat. His 
father was a scion of an aristocratic family, and an 
officer in the army. The son who gave honor to the 
family, was born in the year 1743. at Ribemont, in 
Picardy. His father dying early, left his son to be 
educated with his wife, under the guardianship of his 
brother, the Bishop of Lisieux. a celebrated Jesuit. 
The mother of Condorcet was extremely superstitious, 
and in one of her fanatic ecstacies, offered up her son 
at the shrine of the Virgin Mary. How this* act was 
performed we cannot relate ; but it is a notorious fact 
that until his twelfth year, the embryo philosopher 
was clothed in female attire, and had young ladies for 
companions, which, M. Arago says, " accounts for 
many peculiarities in the physique and the morale of 
his manhood.'' The abstinence from all rude, boyish 
sports, checked the proper muscular development of 
his limbs ; the head and trunk were on a large scale, 
but the legs were so meagre that they seemed unfit to 
carry what was above them; and, in fact, he never 
could partake in any strong exercises, or undergo the 
bodily fatigues to which healthy men willingly expo-e 
themselves. On the other hand, he had imbibed the 



CONBORCET. 



So 



tenderness of a delicate damsel, retaining: to the last a 
deep horror for afflicting pain on the inferior animals. 

In 1775, he entered the Jesuit Academy at Rheims. 
Three years afterwards, he was transferred to the Col- 
lege of Navarre, in Paris, and soon made himself the 
most distinguished scholar there. His friends wished 
him to enter the priesthood, not knowing that even in 
his seventeenth year he had embraced the Deism of 
the a^e. 

At the age of nineteen he left college, and immediate- 
ly published a series of mathematical works, which es- 
tablished his fame. Shortly after this, the Academy 
}f Sciences chose Condorcet for their assistant secreta- 
y. In the year 1770 he accompanied D'Alembert in, 

tour through Italy, making a call for some weeks at 
^erney, where he w~as delighted with the company of 
foltaire, and was duly recognised as one of the Eticy- 
'lopaedists* and, on his return to Paris, became the 
iterary aaent of his great leader. 

A Quarterly Reviewer, writing on Voltaire and Con- 
tercet, says of the former, u When he himself, in these 
fet;er days, was resolved to issue anything that he 
knew and felt to be pregnant with combustion, he 
never dreamt of Paris — he had agents enough in other 
quarters: and the anonymous or pseudonymous mis- 
chief was piinted at London, Amsterdam, or Ham- 
burgh, from a fifth or sixth copy in the handwriting of 
some Dutch or English clerk — thence, by cautious 
steps, smuggled into France — and then, disavowed and 
denounced by himself, and, for him, by his numberless 
agents-, with an intrepid a-surance which, down to the 
last, confounded and baffled all official inquisitors, 
until. In each separate case, the scent had got cold. 
There^oie, Ls sympathized not at all with any of these, 
his suba'terts. when they, in their own proper matters, 
allowed themselves a less guarded style of movement. :) 

On one ocra&lon. Condoreet's imprudence extorts a 
whole series ot passionate remonstrants from him and 
his probable cc nhuants — but the burden is always the 
same — " Tolerate the whispers of age 1 How often 



36 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



shall I have to tell you all that no one but a fool will 

publish such tilings unless he has 200.000 bayonets at 
his back ! Each Encyclopaedist was apt to forget that, 
though he corresponded familiarly with Frederick, he 
was not a King of Prussia ; and, by-and-by, not one of 
them more frequently made this mistake than Condor- 
cet — for that gentleman's saint-like tranquillity of de- 
meanor, though it might indicate a naturally languid 
pulse, covered copious elements of vital passion. The 
slow wheel could not resist the long attrition of con- 
troversy • and when it once blazed, the flame was all 
the fiercer for its unseen nursing. 1 You mistake Con- 
dorcet/ said D : Alembert, 1 he is a volcano covered 
with snow. 3 '' 7 

When Turgot became Minister of Marine, he gave 
Condorcet a post as Inspector of Canals; from this he 
was subsequently promoted to the Inspector of the 
Mint. When Turgot was replaced by Necker, Con- 
dorcet resigned his office. 

In 17S2 tie was elected one of the forty of the Acade- 
my of Sciences, beating the Astronomer, Bailly, by 
one vote. In the next year, D ; Alembert, his faithful 
friend, died, leaving him the whole of his wealth : his 
uncle, the bishop, likewise died in the same year, 
from whom he would receive a fresh accession of 
property. Shortly after this time, Condorcet married 
Madame de Grouchy — also celebrated as a lady of 
great beauty, good fortune, and an educated Atheist. 
The marriage was a happy one. The only offspring 
was a girl, who married General Arthur O'Connor, 
uncle to the late Feargus O'Connor, an Irish refugee 
who was connected with Emmett's rebellion. 

During the excitement of the American War of In- 
dependence, Condorcet took an active part in urging 
the French Government to bestow assistance in arms 
and money, upon the United States : after the war was 
concluded, he corresponded with Thomas Paine, who 
gradually converted him to the extreme Republican 
views the u illustrious needleman ;; himself possessed, 
which, in this case, rapidly led to the denouement of 



CONDORCET. 



3? 



1791, when ne was elected a member of the Legisla- 
tive Assembly by the department of Paris. In the 
next year he was raised to the rank of President by a 
majority of near one hundred votes. While in the As- 
sembly, he brought forward and supported the econo- 
mical doctrines of Adam Smith, proposed the abolition 
of indirect taxation, and levying a national revenue 
upon derivable wealth in amount according to the in- 
dividual, passing over all who gained a livelihood by 
manual labor. He made a motion for the public burn- 
ing of all documents relating to nobility — himself 
being a Marquis. He took a conspicuous place in the 
trial of the king ; he voted him guilty, but refused to 
vote for his death, as the punishment of death was 
against his principles. The speech he made on this 
occasion is fully equal to that of Paine's on the same 
occasion. 

When the divergence took place between the Jaco- 
bins and Girondists, Condorcet strove to unite them ; 
but every day brought fresh troubles, and the position 
of the Seneca of the Revolution was too prominent to 
escape the opposition of the more violent faction. 

Robespierre triumphed; and in his success could be 
traced the doom of his enemies. An intercepted letter 
was the means of Condorcet's impeachment. Depriv- 
ed of the support of Isnard, Brissot, and Vergniaud, 
the Jacobins proscribed without difficulty the hero 
whose writings had mainly assisted in producing the 
Revolution. His friends provided means for his es- 
cape. They applied to a lodging-house keeper, a Mad- 
ame Vernet, il she would conceal him for a time: she 
asked was he a virtuous man — yes, replied his friend, 

he is the stay, you say lie is a good man, I do not 

wish to pry into his secrets or his name. Once safe in 
this asylum, he was unvisited by either wife or friends ; 
morever, such was the hurry of his flight, that he was 
without money, and nearly without books. 

While in this forced confinement, he wrote the " Es- 
quisse d J un Tableau Historique des Progres de P Esprit 
Humain," and several other fragmentary essays. In 
4 



ss 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



this work he lays down a scheme of society similar to 
the "New Moral World," of Robert Owen. Opposing 
the idea of a God, he shows the dominion of science 
in education, political economy, chemistry, and applies 
mathematical principles to a series of moral problems. 
Along with the progress of man he combined the pro- 
gress of arts — estimating the sanatory arrangements 
of our time, he prophecied on the gradual extension 
of longevity, amongst the human race; and with it, 
enjoyments increased by better discipline in gustatu- 
riai duties. He has similar views on the softer sex to 
M. Proudhomme (his immediate disciple,) and, in the 
close of the work, Condorcet announced the possibility 
of an universal language, which is daily becoming 
more assimilated to modern ideas. 

The guillotine had not been idle during the few 
weeks of Condorcet's retreat. Fancying that (if dis- 
covered) he might be the means of injuring his bene- 
factress, he resolved to escape from the house of Mad- 
ame Vemet. Previous to doing this, he made his 
will. M. Arago, describing this epoch in his closing 
days, says : — 

" When he at last paused, and the feverish excite- 
ment of authorship was at an end, our colleague rested 
all his thoughts anew on the danger incurred by his 
hostess. He resolved then ([ employ his own words) 
to quit the retreat which the boundless devotion of his 
tutelar angel had transformed into a paradise. He so 
little deceived himself as to the probable consequences 
of the step he meditated — the chances of safety after 
his evasion appeared so feeble — that before he put his 
pian into execution he made his last dispositions. In 
the pages then written, I behold everywhere the live- 
ly reflection of an elevated mind, a feeling heart, and 
a beautiful soul. I will venture to say, that there ex- 
ists in no language anything better thought, more 
tender, more touching, more sweetly expressed, than 
the ' Avis d'un Proscrit a sa Fill.' Those lines, so 
limpid, so full of unaffected delicacy, w T ere written on 
that very day when he was about to encounter volun* 



CONDORCET. 



39 



tarily an immense danger. The presentiment of a vio- 
lent end almost inevitably did not disturb him — his 
hand traced those terrible words, Ma mort, ma mort pro 
chaine ! with a firmness which the Stoics of antiquity 
might have envied. Sensibility, on the contrary, ob- 
tained the mastery when the illustrious proscribed 
was drawn into the anticipation that Madame de Con- 
dorcet also might be involved in the bloody catastro- 
phe that threatened him. Should my daughter be des- 
tined to lose all — this is the most explicit allusion that 
the husband can insert in his last writing." 

u The Testament is short. It was written on the 
fly-leaf of a 1 History of Spain.' In it Condorcet directs 
that his daughter, in case of his wife's death, shall be 
brought up by Madame Vernet, whom she is to call 
her second mother, and who is to see her so educated 
as to have means of independent support either from 
painting or engraving. 1 Should it be necessary for 
my child to quit France, she may count on protection 
in England from my Lord Stanhope and my Lord Daer. 
In America, reliance may be placed on Jefferson and 
Bache, the grandson of Franklin. She is, therefore, to 
make the English language her first study.' " 

Such was the last epistle ever written by Condorcet. 
Notwithstanding the precautions taken by his friends, 
he escaped into the streets — from thence having ap- 
pealed in vain to friends for assistance, he vi?ited 
some quarries. Here he remained from the 5th to the 
evening of the 7th of April, 1794. Hunger drove him 
to the village of Clamajt, when he applied at an hos- 
telry for refreshment. He described himself as a car- 
penter out of employment, and ordered an omelet. 
This was an age of suspicion, and the landlord of the 
house soon discovered that the wanderer's hands were 
white and undi^figured with l^Jpor, while his conver- 
sation bore no resemblance to that of a common arti- 
ficer. The good dame of the house inquired how 
many eggs he would have in his dish. Twelve, was 
the answer. Twelve eggs for a joiner's supper ! This 
was heresy against the equality of man. They de- 







40 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



manded his passport — he had not got one — the 01-7 
appearance of anything of the sort was a scrap of paper, 
scrawled over with Latin epigrams. This was con- 
clusive evidence to the village Dogberries that he was 
a traitor and an aristocrat. The authorities signed the 
warrant for his removal to Paris. Ironed to two officers 
they started on the march. The first evening they 
arrived at Bourg-la-Reine, where they deposited their 
prisoner in the gaol of that town. In the morning the 
gaoler found him a corpse. He had taken a poi<on of 
great force, which he habitually carried in a ring. 
Thus ended the life of the great Encyclopaedist — a 
man great by his many virtues — who reflected honor 
on France by his science, his literary triumphs, and 
his moral heroism. He had not the towering energy 
of Marat, nor the gushing eloquence of Danton, neither 
had he the superstitious devotion to abstract ideas 
which characterized the whole course of Robespierre's 
life. The oratory of Danton, like that of Marat, only 
excited the people to dissatisfaction; they struck down 
effete institutions, but they were not the men to in- 
augurate a new society. It is seldom we find the 
pioneers of civilization the best mechanics. They 
strike down the forest — they turn the undergrowth — 
they throw 7 a log over the stream, but they seldom rear 
factories, or invent tubular bridges. 

Amongst the whole of the heroes of the French 
Revolution, we must admire the Girondists, as being 
the most daring, and, at the same time, the most 
constructive of all who met either in the Constituent 
Assembly or the Convention. The Jacobin faction 
dealt simply with politics through the abstract notions 
of Rousseau : but of what use are " human rights ?; if 
we have to begin denovo to put into operation 1 — rather 
let us unite the conservative educationalism of Social- 
ism with the wild democracy of ignorance. Politics 
never can be successful unless married to Socialism. 

It was not long after Condorcet's death, before the 
Committee of Public Instruction undertook the charge 
of publishing the whole of his works. For this they 



CONDORCET. 



41 



have been censured on many grounds. We consider 
that it was one of the few good things accomplished 
by that Committee. There is nothing in the works of 
this writer which have a distinctive peculiarity to us; 
few great writers who direct opinion at the time they 
write, appear to posterity in the same light as they 
did to a public inflamed by passion, and trembling 
under reiterated wrongs. When we look at the works 
of D'Holbach, we find a standard treatise, which is a 
land-mark to the present day ; but at the time the 
" System of Nature ?? was written, it had not one tithe 
the popularity which it now enjoys; it did not produce 
an effect superior to a new sarcasm of Voltaire, or an 
epigram of Diderot. Condorcet was rather the co-la- 
borer and literateur of the party, than the prophet of 
the new school. Voltaire was the Christ, and Condor- 
cet the St. Paul of the new faith. In political econo- 
my, the doctrines of the English and Scotch schools 
were elaborated to their fullest extent. Retrenchment 
in pensions and salaries, diminution of armies, equal 
taxation, the resumption by the State of all . the Church 
lands, the development of the agricultural and me- 
chanical resources, the abolition of the monopolies, 
total free trade, local government, and national educa- 
tion ; such were the doctrines for which Turgot fought, 
and Condorcet popularized. If they had been taken 
in time, France would have escaped a revolution, and 
Europe would have been ruled by peace and freedom. 
It may be asked, who brought about the advocacy of 
those doctrines, for they were not known before the 
middle of the eighteenth century] They were introduc- 
ed as a novelty, and defended as a paradox. France 
had been exhausted by wars, annoyed by ennui, bril- 
liant above all by her genius, she was struck with 
lassitude for her licentious crimes. There was an oc- 
casion for a new school. Without it, France, like Car- 
thage, would have bled to death on the hecatomb of 
her own lust. Her leading men cast their eyes to 
England; it was then the most progressive nation in 
existence. The leading men of that country were in- 
4# 



42 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



timate with the rulers of the French; the books of 
each land were read with avidity by their neighbors; 
a difference was observable between the two : but how 
that difference was to be reconciled was past the skill 
of the wisest to unravel. England had liberal institu- 
tions, and a people with part of the substance, and 
many of the forms, of Liberalism, along with a degree 
of education w 7 hich ke„pt them in comparative ignor- 
ance, yet did not offer any obstacles to raiding them- 
selves in the social sphere. Before France could com- 
pete with England, she had to rid herself of the feudal 
system, and obtain a Magna Charia. She was above 
four centuries behind-hand here. She had to win her 
spurs through revolutions, like ihose of Cromwell's 
and that of 1688, and the still greater ones of Parlia- 
ment. The Freethinkers of England prepared the 
Whig revolution of William, by advocating the only 
scheme which was at the time practicable, for of the 
two — the Protestant and the Catholic religion — the 
former is far more conducive to the liberties of a peo- 
ple than the latter, and at the time, ami we may also 
* say, nearer the present, the people were not prepared 

for any organic change. This being the case, it is not 
to be wondered at that the French Revolution was a 
failure as a constructive effort; it was a success as a 
grand outbreak of power ; showing politicians where 
(in the future) to rely for success. The men who un- 
dertook to bring about this Revolution are not to be 
censured for its non-success. They wished to copy 
English institutions, and adapt them to those of the 
French; for this purpose, the Continental League was 
formed, each member of which pledged himself to 
uproot, as far as lay in his power, the Catholic Church 
in Fiance. A secret name was given to it — L'Infame 
— and an organized attack was speedily commenced. 
The men at the head of the movement, besides Vol- 
taire and Frederick, were D'Alembert, Diderot, Grim, 
St. Lambert, Condillac, Helvetius, Jordan, Lalande, 
Montesquieu, and a ho?t of others of less note. Con- 
dorcet, being secretary of the Academy, corresponded 



CONDORCET. 



43 



jvith, and directed the movements of all, in the ab- 
sence of his chief. Every new book was criticised — 
refutations were published to the leading theological 
woiks of the age ; but by far the most effective pro- 
gress was made by the means of poems, essays, ro- 
mances, epigrams, and scientific papers. The songs 
of France at this era were written by the philosophers • 
and this spirit was diffused among the people. In a 
country so volatile and excitable as the French, it is 
difficult to estimate too highly the power of a ballad 
warfare. The morality of Abbots and Nuns were sung 
in strains as rhapsodical, and couplets as voluptuous as 
the vagaries of the Songs of Solomon. 

Much discretion was required, that no separate spe- 
cies of warfare should be overdone, lest a nausea of 
sentiment should revert upon the authors, and thus 
lead to a reaction more sanguinary than the force of the 
philosophers could control. In all those cases Condor- 
cet was the prime mover and the agent concerned. 
He communicated with Voltaire on every new theory, 
and advised him when and how to strike, and when 
to rest. hi all those matters Condorcet was obeyed. 
There was a smaller section of the more serious phi- 
losophers who sympathized with, yet did not labor 
simultaneously for the common cause — those men, the 
extreme Atheists — clever but cautious — men who ri?k- 
ed nothing — Mirabeau and D'Holbach were the types 
of this class. It is well known that both Frederick, 
Voltaire, and Condorcet opposed those sections, as like- 
ly to be aiming at too much for the time. 

When it was considered prudent to take a more 
decided step, the Encyclopaedia was formed. Condor- 
cet had a principal part in this work, which shook 
priestcraft on its throne • it spread consternation where- 
ever it appeared, and was one of the main causes of 
the great outbreak. No one can sufficiently praise a 
work of such magnitude • nor can any one predicate 
when its effects will cease. 

In the u Life of Condorcet,' 7 by Arago, there is a 
curious extract copied from a collection of anecdotes, 



44 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



said to oe compiled from his note-books, and dignified 
with the title of "JVlemoires de Condorcet." It re- 
lates to a conversation between the Abbe Galiana and 
Diderot, in which it is said Condorcet acquiesced. The 
subject is the fair sex : — 

Diderot. — How do you define woman'? 

Galiana. — An animal naturally feeble and sick. 

Diderot. — Feeble] Has she not as much courage 
as man % 

Galiana. — Do you know what courage is? It is the 
effect of terror. You let your leg be cut off, because 
you are afraid of dying. Wise people are never cour- 
ageous — they are prudent — that is to say, poltroons. 

Diderot. — Why call you woman naturally sick? 

Galiana. — Like all animals, she is sick until she at- 
tains her perfect growth. Then she has a peculiar 
symptom which takes up the fifth part of her time. 
Then come breeding and nursing, two long and trou- 
blesome complaints. In short, they have only intervals 
of health, until they turn a certain corner, and then 
elles ne sont plus de malades peut-etre — elles ne sont que 
des reilles. 

Diderot. — Observe her at a ball, no vigor, then, M. 
PAbbe? 

Galiana. — Stop the fiddles ! put out the lights ! she 
will scarcely crawl to her coach. 
Diderot. — See her in love. 

Galiana. — It is painful to see anybody in a fever. 
Diderot. — M. PAbbe, have you no faith in educa- 
tion % 

Galiana. — Not so much as in instinct. A woman is 
habitually ill. She is affectionate, engaging, irritable, 
capricious, easily offended, easily appeased, a trifle 
amuses her. The imagination is always in play. Fear, 
hope, joy, despair, and disgust, follow each other more 
rapidly, are manifested more strongly, effaced more 
quickly, than with us. They like a plentiful repose, 
at intervals company • anything for excitement. Ask 
the doctor if it is not the same with his patients. But 
ask yourself, do we not all treat them as we do sick 



CONDORCET. 



45 



people, lavish attention, soothe, flatter, caress, and get 
tired of them? 

Condorcet, in a letter, remarking on the above con- 
versation, says " I do not insist upon it as probable 
that woman will ever be Euler or Voltaire ; but I am 
satisfied that she may one day be Pascal or Rous- 
seau." This very qualification, we consider, is suffi- 
cient to absolve Condorcet from the charge of being a 
" woman hater. 77 His opponents, when driven from 
every other source, have fallen back on this, and al- 
leged that he viewed the sexes as unequal, and that 
the stronger had a right to lord it over the weaker. 
Bat which is the weaker '? Euler and Voltaire were 
masculine men. A woman to be masculine, in the 
true sense of the word, is an anomaly, to be witnessed 
with pain. She is not in a normal condition. She is 
a monster. Women should live in society fully edu- 
cated and developed in their physical frame, and then 
they would be more feminine in proportion as they 
approach the character of Mary Wollstonecraft. They 
have no right to domineer as tyrants, and then fall 
into the most abject of slaves. In each of the charac- 
ters of Pascal and Rousseau, was an excess of sensi- 
bility, which overbalanced their other .qualities, and 
rendered their otherwise great talents wayward, and, 
to a certain extent, fruitless. The peculiarity of man 
is physical power, and intellectual force,* that of wo- 
man is an acute sensibility. Condorcet, then, was 
lustified in expressing the opinions he avowed upon 
the subject. 

In a paper, in the year 1766, read before the "Acad- 
emy," on " Ought Popular Errors to be Eradicated % " 
Condorcet says, "If the people are often tempted to 
commit crimes in order that they may obtain the ne- 
cessaries of life, it is the fault of the^laws* and, as 
bad laws are the product of errors, it would be more 
simple to abolish those errors than to add others for 
the correction of their natural effects. Error, no doubt, 
may do some good; it may prevent some crimes, but 
it will occasion mischiefs greater than these. By put- 



46 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



ting nonsense into the heads of the people, you make 
them stupid : and from stupidity to ferocity there is 
but a step. Consider — if the mutives you suggest fur 
being just make but a slight impression on the mind, 
that will not direct the conduct — if the impressions be 
lively, they will produce enthusiasm, and enthusiasm 
for error. Now, the ignorant enthusiast is no longer a 
man; he is the most terrible of wild beasts. In fact, 
the number of criminals among the men with preju- 
dices (Christians) is in greater proportion to the total 
number of our population, than the number of crim- 
inals in the class above prejudices (Freethinkers) is to 
the total of that class. I am not ignorant that, in the 
actual state of Europe, the people are not, perhaps, at 
all prepared for a true doctrine of morals; but this de- 
graded obtuseness is the work of social institutions 
and of superstitions. Men are not born blockheads; 
they become such. By speaking reason to the people, 
even in the little time they give to the cultivation ot 
their intellect, we might easily teach them the little 
that it is necessary for them to know. Even the idea 
of the respect that they should have for the property 
of the rich, is only difficult to be insinuated among 
them — first, because they look on riches as a sort of 
usurpation, of theft perpetrated upon them, and un- 
happily this opinion is in great part true — secondly, 
because their excessive poverty makes them always 
consider themselves in the case of absolute necessity 
— a case in which even very severe moralists have 
been of their mind — thirdly, because they are as much 
despised and maltreated for being poor, as they would 
be alter they had lowered themselves by larcenies. It 
is merely, therefore, because institutions are bad, that 
the people are so commonly a little thievish upon 
principle.-' 7 

We should have much liked to have given some ex- 
tended quotations from the works of Condorcet : but, 
owing to their general character, we cannot extract 
any philosophic formula which would be generally in- 
teresting. His ' ; Lettres d'un Theologien :; are well 



CONDORCET. 



47 



deserving of a reprint; they created an astounding 
sensation when they appeared, being taken for the 
work of Voltaire — the light, easy, graceful style, with 
deeply concealed irony, the crushing retort and the 
fiery sarcasm. They made even priests laugh by their 
Attic wit and incongruous similes. But it was in the 
u Academy ,? where Condorcet-s influence was su- 
preme. He immortalized the heroes as they fell, and 
pushed the cause on by his professional duties. He 
was always awake to the call of duty, and nobly did 
he work his battery. He is now in the last grand 
sleep of man — the flowers of poesy are woven in ama- 
rynth wreaths over his tomb. A. C. 



BIOGRAPHY 



OP 

SPINOZA. 



Baruch Spinoza, or Espinoza, better known under 
the name of Benedict Spinoza (as rendered by himselt 
in the Latin language,) was born at Amsterdam, in 
Holland, on the 24th of November, 1632. There is 
some uncertainty as to this date, as there are several 
dates fixed by different authors, both for his birth and 
death, but we have adopted the biography given by 
Dr. C. H. Bruder. in the preface to his edition of Spino- 
za's works. His parents were Jews of the middle, or, 
perhaps, somewhat humbler class. His father was ori- 
ginally a Spanish merchant, who, to escape persecu- 
tion, had emigrated to Holland. Although the life of 
our great philosopher is one full of interesting inci- 
dents, and deserves to be treated fully, we have but 
room to give a very brief sketch, referring our readers, 
who may wish to learn more of Spinoza's life, to 
Lewes ? s " Biographical History of Philosophy, 57 West- 
minster Review, No. 77, and " Encyclopaedia Brittanni- 
ca," p. 144. His doctrines we will let speak for them- 
selves in his own words, trusting thereby to give the 
reader an opportunity of knowing who and what Spi- 
noza really was. One man shrinks with horror from 
him as an Atheist. Yoltaire says, that he was an 
Atheist, and taught Atheism. Another calls him " a 
God-intoxicated man." We present him a mighty 
thinker, a master mind, a noble, fearless utterer of 
free and noble thoughts, a hard-working, honest, in- 
5 



50 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



dependent man ; as one who, two centuries ago, gave 
forth to the world a series of thinkings which have 
crushed, with resistless force, the theological shell, 
in the centre of which the priests hide the kernel 
" truth." 

Spinoza appears in his boyhood to have been an apt 
scholar, and to have rapidly mastered the tasks set 
him by his teachers. Full of rabbinical lore he won 
the admiration of the Rabbi Moses Mortira, but the 
pupil rose higher than his master, and attempted to 
solve problems which the learned rabbis were content 
to reverence as mysteries not capable of solution. 
First they remonstrated, then threatened ; still Spi- 
noza persevered in his studies, and in making known 
the result to those around him. He was threatened 
with excommunication, and withdrew himself from 
the synagogue. One more effort was made by the 
rabbis, who offered Spinoza a pension of about £100 
a-year if he would attend the synagogue more fre- 
quently, and consent to be silent with regard to his 
philosophical thinkings. This offer he indignantly re- 
fused. Reason failing, threats proving futile, and gold 
being treated with scorn, one was found sufficiently 
fanatic to try a further experiment, which resulted in 
an attempt on Spinoza's life ; the knife, however, luck- 
ily missed its aim, and our hero escaped. At last, in 
the year 1660, Spinoza, being then twenty-eight years 
of age, was solemnly excommunicated from the syna- 
gogue. His friends and relations shut their doors 
against him. An outcast from the home of his youth, 
he gained a humble livelihood by polishing glasses for 
microscopes, telescopes, etc., at which he was very 
expert. While thus acquiring, by his own handiwork, 
the means of subsistence, he was studying hard, de- 
voting every possible hour to philosophical research. 
Spinoza became master of the Dutch, Hebrew, Ger- 
man, Spanish, Portuguese, and Latin languages, the 
latter of which he acquired in the house of one Francis 
Van den Ende, from whom it is more than probable 
he received as much instruction in Atheism as in 



SPINOZA. 



51 



Latin. Spinoza only appears to have once fallen in 
love, and this was with Van den Ende's daughier, 
who was herself a good linguist, and who gave Spi- 
noza instruction in Latin. She, however, although 
willing to be his instructress and companion in a phi- 
logical path, declined to accept his love, and thus 
Spinoza was left to philosophy alone. After his ex- 
communication he retired to Rhynsbursy, near the City 
of Leyden, in Holland, and there studied the works of 
Descartes. Three years afterwards he published an 
abridgment of the " Meditations ?; of the great father 
of philosophy, which created a profound sensation. In 
an appendix to this abridgment were contained the 
germs of those thinkings in which the pupil outdid the 
master, and the student progressed beyond the phi- 
losopher. In the month of June, 1664, Spinoza remov- 
ed to Woorburg, a small village near the Hague, where 
he was visited by persons from different parts, attract- 
ed by his fame as a philosopher; and at last, alter 
many solicitations he came to the Hague, and resided 
there altogether. In 1670 he published his "Tractatus 
Theologico-Politicus." This raised him a host of op- 
ponents; many writers rushed eager for the fray, to 
tilt with the poor Dutch Jew. His book was officially 
condemned and forbidden, and a host of refutations (?) 
were circulated against it. In spite of the condemna- 
tion it has outlived the refutations. 

Spinoza died on the 21st or 22nd of February, 1677, 
in his forty-fifth year, and was buried on the 25th of 
February at the Hague. He was frugal in his habits, 
subsisting independently on the earnings of his own 
hands. Honorable in all things, he refused to accept 
the chair of Professor of Philosophy, offered to him by 
the Elector, and this because he did not wish to be 
circumscribed in his thinking, or in the freedom of 
utterance of his thoughts. He also refused a pension 
offered to him by Louis XIV , saying that he had 
no intention of dedicating anything to that monarch. 
The following is a list of Spinoza's works : — u Princi- 
piorum Philosophise Renati Descartes; ;? u Tractatus 



52 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



Theologico-Politicus; " "Ethica;" u Tractatus Posti- 
cus;" " De Emandatione Intellectus ; ' ? " Epistola? ; w 
u Grammaticus Hebracae, 7; etc. There are also severa v 
spurious wuiks asciibed to Spinoza. The " Tractatus 
Politieus" has been translated into English by Wil- 
liam Maccall, who seems fully to appreciate the great- 
ness of the philosopher, although he will not admit the 
usefulness of Spinoza's logic. Maccall does n nr see 
the utility of that very logic which compelled him to 
admit Spinoza's truth. We are not aware of any other 
translation of Spinoza's works except that of a small 
portion of his u Ethica, " by Lewes. This work, which 
was originally published in 1677, commenced with 
eight definitions, which, together with the following 
axioms and propositions, were reprinted from the West- 
minster Review in the Library of Reason : — 

DEFINITIONS. 

I. By cause of itself I understand that, the essence 
of which involves existence : or that, the nature of 
which can only be considered as existent. 

If. A thing finite is that which can be limited (ter- 
minari potest) by another thing of the same nature — 
ergo, body is said to be finite because it can always 
be conceived as larger, ^o thought is limited by other 
thoughts. But body does not limit thought, nor thougiit 
limit body. \ 

III. By substance I understand that which is in it- 
self, and is conceived per se — that is, .the conception 
of which does not require the conception of anything 
else as antecedent to it. 

IV. By attribute I understand that which the mind 
perceives as constituting the very essence of sub- 
stance. 

V. By modes I understand the accidents (affectiones) 
of substance; or that which is in something else, 
through which also it is conceived. 

VI. By God I understand the being absolutely in- 
finite* that is ? the substance consisting of infinite at- 



SPINOZA. 



53 



tributes, each of which expresses an infinite and eternal 
essence. 

Explication. I say absolutely infinite, but not in suo 
genere ; for to whatever is infinite, but not in suo 
genere. we can deny infinite attributes : but that which 
is absolutely infinite, to its essence pertains everything 
which implies essence, and involves no negation. 

VH. That thing is said to be free which exists by 
the sole necessity of its nature, and by itself alone is 
determined to action. But that is necessary, or rather 
constrained, which owes its existence to another, and 
acts according to certain and determinate causes. 

VIII. By eternity I understand existence itself, in as 
far as it is conceived necessarily to follow from the sole 
definition of an eternal thing. 

AXIOMS. 

I. Everything which is, is in itself, or in some other 
thing. 

II. That which cannot be conceived through anoth- 
er, per aliud, must be conceived, per se. 

IIL From a given determinate cause the effect ne- 
cessarily follows, and vice versa. If no determinate 
cause be given, no effect can follow. 

IV. The knowledge of an effect depends on the 
knowledge of the cause, and includes it. 

V. Things that have nothing in common with each 
other cannot be understood by means of each other — 
that is, the conception of one, does not involve the 
conception of the other. 

VI. A true idea must agree with its original in 
nature. . 

VII. Whatever can be clearly conceived as non-ex- 
istent does not, in its essence, involve existence. 

PROPOSITIONS. 

I. Substance is prior in nature to its accidents. 
Demonstration. Per definitions three and five. 

II. Two substances, having different attributes, have 
nothing in common with each other. 

5* 



54 



UIOGRAPHY OF 



Dem. This follows from def. three;. for each sub- 
stance must be conceived in itsell and through itself; 
in other words, the conception of one does not involve 
the conception' of the other. 

III. Of things which have nothing in common, one 
cannot be the cause of the other. 

Dem. If they have nothing in common, then (per 
axiom five) they cannot be conceived by means of 
each other; ergo (per axiom four,) one cannot be the 
cause of the other. — Q. E. D. 

IV. Two or more distinct things are distinguished 
among themselves, either through the diversity of their 
attributes, or through ihat of their modes. 

Dem. Everything which is, in itself, or in some other 
thing (per ax. one) — that is (per def. three and five,) 
there is nothing out of ourselves {extra intellectual, out- 
side the intellect) but substance and its modes. There 
is nothing out of ourselves whereby things can be dis- 
tinguished amongst one another, except substances, or 
(which is the same thing, per def. lour) their attri- 
butes and modes. 

V. It is impossible that there should be two or more 
substances of the same nature, or of the same at- 
tributes. 

Dem. If there are many different substances they 
must be distinguished by the diversity of their attii- 
butes or of their modes (per prop. 4.) If only by the 
diversity of their attributes, it is thereby conceded that 
there is, nevertheless, only one substance of the same 
attribute; but if their diversity of modes, then, sub- 
stance being piior in order of time to its modes, it 
must be considered independent of them — that is (per 
def. three and six,) cannot be conceived as distin- 
guished from another — that is (per prop, four,) there 
cannot be many substances, but only one substance. — 
Q. E. D. 

VI. One substance cannot be created by another 
substance. 

Dem. There cannot be two substances with the 
same attributes (per prop, five) — that is {per prop. 



SPINOZA. 



55 



two,) that have anything in common with each other ; 
and, therefore (per prop, three,) one cannot be the 
cause of the other. 

Corollary 1. Hence it follows that substance cannot 
be created by anything else. For there is nothing in 
nature except substance and its modes (per axiom one, 
and def. three and five.) Now, this substance, not 
being produced by another, is self-caused. 

Corollary 2. This proposition is more easily to be 
demonstrated by the absurdity of its contradiction • for 
if substance can be produced by anything else, the 
conception of it would depend on the conception of the 
cause (per axiom four.) and hence (per def. three,) it 
would not be substance. 

VII. It pertains to the nature of substance to exist. 
Dem. Substance cannot be produced by anything 

else (per coroll. prop, six,) and is therefore the cause 
of itself — that is (per def. one,) its essence necessarily 
involves existence ; or it pertains to the nature of sub- 
stance to exist. — Q. E. D. 

VIII. All substance is necessarily infinite. 

Dem. There exists but one substance of the same 
attribute j and it must either exist as infinite or finite. 
But not finite, for (per def. two) as finite it must be 
limited by another substance of the same nature, and 
in that case there would be two substances of the 
same attributes, which (per prop, five) is absurd. Sub- 
stance therefore is infinite. — Q. E. D. 

" Scholium I. — I do not doubt but that to all who 
judge confusedly of things, and are not wont to in- 
quire into first causes, it will be difficult to admit the 
demonstration of prop. 7, because they do not suf- 
ciently distinguish between the modifications of sub- 
stances, and substances themselves, and are ignorant 
of the manner in which things are produced. Hence 
it folio w r s, that the commencement which they see 
natural things have, they attribute to substances ; for 
he who knows not the true cause of things, confounds 
all things, and feigns that trees talk like men ; that 
men are formed from stones as well as from seeds, 



56 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



and that all forms can be changed into all other forms. 
So, also, those who confound the divine nature with 
the human, naturally attribute human affections to 
God, especially as they are ignorant of how these af- 
fections are produced in the mind. If men attended 
to the nature of substance, they would not, in the 
least, doubt proposition seven ; nay, this proposition 
w 7 ould be an axiom to all, and would be numbered 
among common notions. For by substance they would 
understand that which exists in itself, and is concern- 
ed through itself — i. e., the knowledge of which does not 
require the knowledge of anything as antecedent to it. 
But by modification they would understand that which 
is in another thing, the conception of which is formed by 
the conception of the thing in which it is, or to which 
it belongs. We can have, therefore, correct ideas of 
non-existent modifications, because, although out of 
the understanding they have no reality, yet their es- 
sence is so comprehended in that of another, that they 
can be conceived through this other. The truth of 
substance (out of the understanding) lies nowhere but 
in itself, because it is conceived per se. If therefore 
any one says he has a clear idea of substance, and yet 
doubt whether such substance exist, this would be as 
much as to say that he has a true idea, and neverthe- 
less doubts whether it be not false (as a little attention 
sufficiently manifests;) or if any man affirms substance 
to be created, he at the same time affirms that a true 
idea has become false, than w 7 hich nothing can be 
more absurd. Hence it is necessarily confessed that 
the existence of substance, as well as its essence, is 
an eternal truth. And hence we must conclude that 
there is only one substance possessing the same attri- 
bute, which requires here a fuller development. I 
note therefore — 1. That the correct definition of a 
thing includes and expresses nothing but the nature 
of the thing defined. From which follows — 2. That 
no definition includes or expresses a distinct number 
of individuals, because it expresses nothing but the 
nature of the thing defined ; ergo, the definition of a tri- 



SPINOZA. 



57 



angle expresses no more than the nature of a triangle, 
and not any fixed number of mangles. 3. There must 
necessarily be a distinct cause for the existence of 
every existing thing. 4. This cause, by reason of 
which anything exists, must either be contained in 
the nature and definition of the existing thing (viz., 
that it pertains to its nature to exist,) or else must be 
beyond it — must be something different from it. 

M As therefore it pertains to the nature of substance 
to exist, so must its definition include a necessary ex- 
istence, and consequently from its sole definition we 
must conclude its existence. But as from its defini- 
tion, as already shown in notes two and three, it is not 
possible to conclude the existence of many substances 
— ergo, it necessarily follows that only one substance 
of the same nature can exist.-' 

It will be necessary for the reader to remember that 
Spinoza commenced his philosophical studies at the 
same point with Descartes. Both recognized existence 
as the primal fact, self-evident and indisputable. 

But while Descartes had, in some manner, fashioned 
a quality-— God and God-created substance — Spinoza 
only found one substance, the definition of which in- 
cluded existence. By his fourth proposition ( u of 
things which have nothing in common, one cannot 
be the cause of the other, ;; ) he destroyed the creation 
theory, because by that theory God is assumed to be 
a spirit having nothing in common with matter, yet 
acting on matter; and Lewes speaks of the fourth pro- 
position in the following terms : — " This fallacy has 
been one of the most influential corruptors of philo- 
sophical* speculation. For many years it was undis- 
puted, and most metaphysicians still adhere to it. The 
assertion is that only like can act upon like ; but al- 
though it is true that like produces (causes) like, it is 
also true that like produces unlike; thus fire produces 
pain when applied to our bodies; explosion when ap- 
plied to gunpowder ; charcoal when applied to wood; 
all these effects are unlike the cause. ?; 

We cannot help thinking that in this instance, the 



58 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



usually thoughtful Lewes has eiiher confused sub- 
stance with its modes, or. for the sake of producing 
a temporary effect, has descended to mere sophism. 
Spinoza's proposition is, that substances having nothing 
in common, cannot act on one another. Lt-wes deals 
with several modes of the same substance as though 
they were different substances'. Nay, more, to make 
his argument the more plausible, he entirely ignores 
in it that noumenon of which he speaks as underlying all 
phenomena, and uses each phenomenon as a separate 
existence. In each of the instances mentioned, how- 
ever varied may be the modification, the essence is 
the same. They are merely examples of one portion 
of the whole acting upon another portion, and there is 
that in each mode which is common to the whole, 
and by means of which the action takes place. 

Much has been said of Spinoza's k * God ;r and " Di- 
vine Substance," and we must refer the reader to Defi- 
nition Six, in which God is defined as being "infinite 
substance." Now, although we should be content to 
strike ih N word " God " out of our own tablet ot philo- 
sophical nomenclature, as being a much misused, mis- 
represented, and entirely useless word, yet we must 
be very careful, when we find another man usii g the 
word, to get his precise definition, and not to use any 
other ourselves while in his company. 

Spinoza, when asked " What name do you attach to 
infinite substance \ 7} says, "God. 73 — If he had said 
any other word we could not have quarrelled with 
him, so long as he defined the word, and adhered 
strictly to the terms of his definition, although we 
might regret that he had not either coined a 'word for 
himself, or used one less maltreated by the mass. 
Spinoza said, " I can only take cognizance of one sub- 
stance (of which I am part) having infinite attiibutes 
of extension and thought. I take cognizance of sub- 
stance by its modes, and in my consciousness of ex- 
istence. Every thing is a mode of ihe attribute of 
extension, every thought, wish, or feeling, a mode of 
the attribute of thought. I ball this substance, with 



SPINOZA. 



infinite attributes, God/ 7 Spinoza, like all other think- 
ers, found himself overpowered by the illimitable vast- 
ness of the infinite when attempting to grasp it by his 
mental powers, but unlike other men he did not en- 
deavor to relieve himself by separating himself from 
that infinite; but, knowing he was a part of the whole, 
not divisible from the remainder, he was content to 
aim at perfecting his knowledge of existence rather 
than at dogmatising upon an indefinable word, which, 
if it represented anything, professed to represent an 
incomprehensible existence far beyond his reach. 

We ought not to wonder that in many parts of Spi- 
noza's writings we find the word " God 77 treated in a 
less coherent manner than would be possible under 
the definition given in his u Ethics, 77 and for these 
reasons : — Spinoza, from his cradle upwards, had been 
surrounded with books and traditions sanctified by the 
past, and impressed on his willing mind by his family, 
his tutors, and the heads of his church ; a mind like 
his gathered all that was given, even more quickly 
than it was offered, still craving for more— more 
light' 7 — " more light 77 — and at last light came burst- 
ing on the young thinker like a lightning flash at dark 
midnight, revealing his mind in chains, which had 
been cast round him in his nursery, his school, his col- 
lege, his synagogue. By a mighty effort he burst 
these chains, and walked forth a free man, despite the 
entreaties of his family, the reasonings of the rabbis, 
the knife of the fanatic, the curse of his church, and 
the edict of the state. But should it be a matter of 
surprise to us that some of the links of those broken 
chains should still hang on the young philosopher, 
and, seeming to be a part of himself, almost imper- 
ceptibly incline to old ways of thinking, and to old 
mudes of utterance of those thoughts 1 Wonder not 
that a few links hang about him, but rather that he 
even- succeeded in breaking those chains at ail. Spi- 
noza, after his secession from his synagogue, became 
logically an Atheist ; education and early impressions 
enlarged this into a less clearly-defined Pantheism ; 



60 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



but the logic comes to us naked, disrobed of all by 
which it might have been surrounded in Spinoza's 
mind. If that logic be correct, then all the theologies 
of the world are false. We have presented it to the 
reader to judge of for himself. Many men have writ- 
ten against it; of these some have misunderstood, 
some nave misrepresented, some have failed, and few 
have left us a proof that they bad endeavored to deal 
with Spinoza on his own ground. Maccail says. '•' In 
the glorious throng of heroic names, there are few 
nobler than Spinoza's. Apart altogether from the esti- 
mate we may form of his philosophy, there is some- 
thing unspeakably interesting in the life and the char- 
acter of the man. In his metaphysical system there 
are two things exceedingly distinct. There is. first, 
the immense and prodigious, but terrible mathemati- 
cal skeleton, which his subtle intellect binds up and 
throws as calmly into space as we drop a pebble inio 
the water, and whose bones, striking against the wreck 
of all that is sacred in belief, or bold in speculation, 
rattle a wild response to our wildest phantasies, and 
drive us almost to think in despair that thinking is 
madness : and mere is. secondly, tne divinest vision 
of the infinite, and the divinest incense which the in- 
tuition of the infinite ever yet poured forth at the altar 
of creation. ;J 

Tine •• Treatise on Politics r is not Spinoza's greatest 
work : it is. in all respects, inferior to the •■ Ethics.'' 
and to tne ■• Theologieo-Politieal Treatise. 73 But there 



are in politics eeriaiu eternal principles, and it is for 
setting forth and elucidating tnese tnat tne Treatise of 
Spinoza is so valuable. 

In tne second chapter of that Treatise, after defining 1 
what he means bv nature, etc.. he. on the sixth sec- 
tion, proceeds as fellows : — " But many believe that 
tne ignorant disturb mere than follow the order of 
nature, ami conceive of men in nature as a state with- 
in tne state. For thev assert that the human mind 
has not been produced bv anv natural causes, but 



created immediately by God, and thereby rendered so 



SPINOZA. 



61 



independent of other things as to have absolute power 
of determining itself, and of using reason aright. But 
experience teaches us more than enough, that it is no 
more in our power to have a sound mind than a sound 
body. Since, moreover, everything, as far as it is 
able, strives to conserve its being, we cannot doubt 
that if it were equally in our power to live according 
to the prescripts of reason, as to be led by blind deske, 
all would seek the guidance of reason and live wisely, 
which is not the case. For every one is the slave of 
the particular pleasure to which he is most attached. 
Nor do theologians remove the difficulty, when they 
assert that this inability is a vice, or a sin of human 
nature, which derives its origin from the fall of the 
first parent. For if it was in the power of the first 
man to stand rather than to fall, and if he was sound 
in faculty, and had perfect control over his own mind, 
how did it happen that he, the wise and prudent, fell'? 
But -they say he was deceived and tempted by the 
devil. But who was it that led astray and tempted 
the devil himself? Who, I ask, rendered this the 
most excellent of intelligent creatures so mad, that he 
wished to be greater than God] Could he render him- 
self thus mad — he who had a sane mind, and strove 
as much as in him lay to conserve his being? How, 
moreover, could it happen that the first man in pos- 
session of his entire mental faculties, and master of 
his will, should be both open to temptation, and su£Fe r 
himselt to be robbed of his mind l For if he had the 
power of using his reason aright, he could not be de- 
ceived • for as far as in him lay, he necessarily sought 
to conserve his own being, and the sanity of his mind. 
But it is supposed he had this in his power, therefore 
he necessarily conserved his sane mind, neither could 
he be deceived. Which is evidently false from his his- 
tory; and, consequently, it must be granted that it 
was not in the power of the first person to use reason 
aright, but that he, like us, was subject to passions." 

Spinoza is scarcely likely to become a great favorite 
with the " Woman's Right's Convention." In hii ninth 
6 



62 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



chapter of the same Treatise, he says, "If by nature 
women were equal to men, and excelled as much as 
they in strength ol mind and in talent, truly amongst 
nations, >o many and to different, some would be 
found where both sexes ruled equally, and otheis 
where the men were ruled by the women, and so edu- 
cated as to be inferior to them in talent: but as 1 his 
has never happened, we are j us titled in assuming that 
women, by nature, have not an equal right with men, 
but that they are necessarily obedient to men, and 
thus it can never happen that both sexes can equally 
rule, and still less that men be ruled by women/' 

Lewes, in his seventh chapter on Modern Philosophy, 
thus sums up Spinoza's teachings and their result. He 
says : — 

u The doctrine of Spinoza was of great importance, 
if for nothing more than having brought about the 
first crisis in modern philosophy. His doctrine was 
so clearly stated, and so rigorously deduced from ad- 
mitted premises, that he brought philosophy into this 
dilemma : — 

"'Either my premises are correct; and we must 
admit that every clear and distinct idea is absolutely 
true ; true not only subjectively, but objectively. 

" ' If so, my objection is true j 

" ' Or my premises are false; the voice of conscious- 
ness is not the voice of truth; 

" ' And if so, then is my system false, but all phi- 
losophy is impossible ; since the only ground of certi- 
tude — our consciousness — is pronounced unstable, our 
only means of knowing the truth is pronounced falla- 
cious/* ; * 

" Spinozism or scepticism, choose between them, 
fur you have no other choice. 

" Mankind refused, however, to make a choice. If 
the principles which Descartes had established could 
have no other result than Spinozism, it was worth 
while inquiring whether those principles might not 
themselves be modified. 

"The ground of discussion was shifted, psychology 



SPINOZA. 



63 



took the place of ontology, ft was Descartes's theory 
of knowledge which led to Spinozism ; that theory 
must therefore be examined • that theory becomes the 
great subject of discussion. Before deciding upon the 
merits of any system which embraced the great ques- 
tions of creation, the Deity, immortality, etc., men saw 
that it was necessary to decide upon the competency of 
the human mind to solve such problems. All know- 
ledge must be obtained either through experience or in- 
dependent of experience. Knowledge dependent on 
experience must necessarily be merely knowledge of 
phenomena. All are agreed that experience can only 
be experience of ourselves as modified by objects. 
All are agreed that to know things per se — noumena 
— we must know them through some other channel 
then experience. Have we or have we not that other 
channel? This is the problem." 

" Thus, before we can dogmatize upon ontological 
subjects, we must settle this question — Can we trans- 
cend the sphere of our consciousness, and know things 
perse ? J) "I." 



BIOGRAPHY 

OF 

ANTHONY COLLINS. 



Freethought, as developed in the Deistic struggles 
of the seventeenth century, had to batile for existence 
against the Puritanic reaction which took its second 
rise from the worn-out licentious age of the last of the 
Stuarts, and that of the no less dangerous (though con- 
cealed) libertinism of the Dutch king. A religious 
rancor also arose which, but for the influence of a new 
power, would have re-enacted the tragedy of religious 
persecution. But this rancor became somewhat modi- 
fied, from the, fact that the various parties now were 
unlike the old schismatics, who were each balanced 
at the opposite ends of the same pole — extreme Pa- 
pacy on the one hand, and Fifth-monarchists on the 
other — when each oscillation from the Protestant cen- 
tre deranged the balance of enthusiasm, and drove it 
to the farthest verge of fanaticism, until all religious 
parties were hurled into one chaos of disunion. Such 
were the frequent changes of the seventeenth century 
— but at its close the power of Deism had evolved a 
platform on which was to be fought the hostilities of 
creeds. Here, then, could not exist that commingling 
of sects, which were deducible in all their varied ex- 
travagance from the Bible. Theology had no longer 
to fight with itself, but with philosophy. Metaphysics 
became the Jehu of opinion, and sought to drive its 
chariot through the fables of the saints. The old doc- 
trines had to be re-stated to meet new foes. For the 
6* 



06 



BIOGRAPHY 'JF 



Papists, Nonconformists, and Browniste, were excluded 
to make way for the British Illuminati, who spread as 
much consternation through England as did the French 
Encyclopaedists across Europe. The new field of ac- 
tion was only planned, for when Catholicism first op- 
posed Protestantism, its leaders little thought what a 
Pandoric box it was opening — nor did the Divines of 
the latter sect ever doubt the finality of their own 
doctrines. They wished to replace one infallibility by 
another. And the same charge can be substantiated 
against Deism. When in this Augustan a^e the Free- 
thinking leaders, fresh from the trammels of Christism, 
first took the name of Moral Philosophers, they little 
knew they were paving the way for an Atheism they 
so much dreaded — a democracy more unbridled than 
their most constitutional wi-hes — a political economy 
to be tried for half a century, and then to be discaided 
— a revolutionary fervor which should plough up Eu- 
rope, and then give place to a Communism, which the 
first founders of this national agitation would have 
gazed upon with amazement, and shrunk from with 
despair. Such is the progress of change. The rise of 
the Deistic movement may be defined in a sentence. 
It was the old struggle of speculative opinion shifting 
its battle-ground from theology to philosophy, prior to 
the one being discarded, and the other developed into 
positive science. 

Amongst the most distinguished of these reformers, 
stands the name of Anthony Collins. 

Who and what he was, we have little opportunity of 
knowing, save from the scattered notices of contempo- 
raries; but sufficient is left on record to prove him 
one of the best of men, and the very Corypheus of De- 
ism. The twin questions of Necessity and Prophecy 
have been examined by him perhaps more ably than 
by any other liberal author. There are slight discre- 
pancies in relation to the great events of his life. The 
Abbe Lodivicat says he was born June 21st, 1676. of 
a rich and noble family, at Heston, in Middlesex, and 
was appointed treasurer of the county; but another 



ANTHONY COLLINS. 



67 



account says " Hounslow," which we think was the 
more likely place. He was educated at Eton and 
Cambridge. He studied for the bar for sometime, but 
(being wealthy) ultimately renounced jurisprudence, 
while his youthful studies admirably fitted him for his 
subsequent magisterial duties. He was clever, honest, 
learned, and esteemed by all who knew r his character. 
The elder DTsraeli says, " that he was a great lover of 
literature, and a man of fine genius, while his morals 
were immaculate, and his personal character indepen- 
dent." 

The friendship of Locke alone is sufficient to stamp 
the character of Collins with honor, and he was one of 
the most valued friends of this great man. In a vol- 
ume published by P. Des Maizeaux (a waiter we shall 
have occasion to notice) in the year 1720, containing 
a collection of the posthumous works of Locke, there 
are several letters addressed to Collins which fully 
substantiate our opinion. Locke w T as then an old man, 
residing in the country, and Collins was a young man 
in London, who took a pleasure in executing the com- 
missions of his illustrious friend. In one of them, 
dated October 29th, 1703, he says — C£ If I were now 
setting out in the world, I should think it my greatest 
happiness to have such a companion as you, who had 
a true relish of truth, would in earnest seek it with 
me, from whom I might receive it undisguised, and to 
whom I might communicate what 1 thought true, free- 
ly. Believe it my good friend, to love truth for truth's 
sake, is the principal part of human perfection in this 
world, and the seed-plot of all other virtue; and, if I 
mistake not, you have as much of it as ever I met with 
in anybody. What, then, is there wanting to make 
you equal to the best — a friend for any one to be 
proud of? ;? 

During the following year the correspondence of 
Locke appears in a most interesting light — the affec- 
tionate inquiries, the kind advice, and the most grate- 
ful acknowledgments are made to Collins. Oil Sept. 
11th. Locke writes :— u He that has anything to do 



S8 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



with you, must own that friendship is the natural pro- 
duct of your constitution, and your soul, a noble soil, 
is enriched with the two most valuable qualities of 
human nature — truth and friendship. What a treasure 
have I then in such a friend, with whom I can con- 
verse, and be enlightened about the highest specula- 
tions ! " On the 1st of October he wrote Collins on his 
rapid decay, " But this, I believe, he will assure you, 
that my infirmities prevail so fast on me, that unless 
you make haste hither, I may lose the satisfaction of 
ever seeing again a man that I value in the first rank 
of those 1 leave behind me." This was written twen- 
ty-seven days before his death. Four days before his 
decease, he wrote a letter to be given to Collins after 
his death. This document is one of the most impor- 
tant in relation to the life of the great Freethinker — it 
irrefragably proves the falsity of everything that may 
be alleged against the character of Collins : — 

" Oates, August 23, 1704. 
For Anthony Collins, Esq. 

Dear Sir — By my will, you will see that I had some 
kindness for * * * And I knew no better way to 
take care of him, than to put him, and what I design- 
ed for him, into your hands and management. The 
knowledge I have of your virtues of all kinds, se- 
cures the trust, which, by your permission, I have 
placed in you ; and the peculiar esteem and love I 
have observed in the young man for you, will dispose 
him to be ruled and influenced by you, so of that I 
need say nothing. May you live long and happy, in 
the enjoyment of health, freedom, content, and all 
those blessings which Providence has bestowed on 
you, and your virtues entitle you to. I know you 
loved me living, and will preserve my memory now I 
am dead. # * % I leave my best wishes with you. 

John Locke." 



Such is the honorable connection which existed be- 
tween Locke and Collins. Collins's first publication 



ANTHONY COLLINS. 



69 



was a tract, " Several of the London Cases Consider- 
ed," in the year 1700. In 1707, he published an " Es- 
say Concerning the Use of Reason on Propositions, the 
evidence whereof depends upon Human Testimony; " 
" in which," says Dr. LeJand, " there are some good 
observations, mixed with others of a suspicious nature 
and tendency." It principally turned on the Trini- 
tarian controversy then raging, and is of little interest 
now. In this year Collins united with Dodwell in the 
controversy carried on by Dr. Samuel Clarke. One of 
Clarke's biographers alludes to it thus : "Dr. Clarke's 
arguments in favor of the immateriality, and conse- 
quent immortality of the soul, called out, however, a 
far more formidable antagonist than Dodwell, in the 
person of Anthony Collins, an English gentleman of sin- 
gular intellectual acuteness, but, unhappily, of Infidel 
principles. The controversy was continued through 
several short treatises. On the whole, though Clarke, 
in some instances, laid himself open to the keen and 
searching dialectics of his gifted antagonist, the vic- 
tory certainly remained with the Divine." Of course 
it is only to be expected that such will be the opinion 
of an opponent — but it is further proof of Collins's 
ability and character. In 1703 appeared his celebrat- 
ed "Discourses of Freethinking," which perhaps cre- 
ated the greatest sensation in the religious world (with 
the exception of the " Age of Reason ") of any book 
published against Christianity. This book is as able 
a defence of the freedom of the expression of thought 
without penalty, as was ever published. It is divided 
into four sections. In the 1st, Freethlnking is defined 
— in five arguments. In the 2nd, That it is our duty 
to think freely on those points of which men are deni- 
ed the right to think freely : such as of the nature and 
attributes of God, the truth and authority of Scriptures, 
and of the meaning of Scriptures, in seven arguments 
and eleven instances. The third section is the con- 
sideration of six objections to Freethinking — from the 
whole of which he concludes (1) That Freethinkers 
must have more understanding, and that they must 



70 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



necessarily be the most virtuous people. (2) That 
they have, in fact, been the most understanding and 
virtuous people in all ages. Here follows the names 
of a great number of men whom Collins classified as 
Freethinkers, and of whom we have no reason to be 
ashamed. 

This book was answered by many divines, but none 
of them emerged from the contest with such Christian 
honors as the famous Dr. Bentley — considered Eng- 
land's greatest classical scholar. In the same year, 
the Dr. published his reply urder the signatuie of 
" Phileleutheros Lipsiensis." The fame of Bentley 
w T as considered equal lo Coilins's; ?ud it has always 
been represented that this reply completely cru?hed 
the Freethinker — nothing could be farther from the 
truth. Bentley principally attacked t^is Greek quota- 
tions, and denounced Collins for his it-rcrance in not 
putting his (Bentley's) construction on orvry disputed 
word. For this reply. Bentley received the thaols 
of the University of Cambiidge. In cor^xtion wit ^ 
this work, Collins is also charged with wilful deception 
— which has been reproduced in our own a\ya by d 
vines who perhaps never read a line of Colons. 1 
French edition of the " Discourse " was translated ut 
der the personal inspection of Collins : and it i« ti'i< 
that he altered the con-trnction of several senve'.ca 
to evade the charges brought against him by Benufcy 
Dr. Leland is particularly eloquent upon this ; and tht 
Rev. Mr. Lorimer, of Glasgow, triumphantly plagia- 
rises the complaint of the men whose defects he can 
only imitate. There is another charge connected with 
Bentley and his friends, which it is desirous should be 
exposed. The elder D'lsraeli says: — "Anthony Col- 
lins wrote several well-known works, without prefix- 
ing his name : but having pushed too far his curious 
and polemical points, he incurred the odium of a Free- 
thinker — a term which then began to be in vogue, 
and which the French adopted by translating it, in 
their way — 'a strong thinker.' or esprit fort. What- 
ever tendency to 1 liberalise ; the mind from the dog- 



ANTHONY COLLINS. 



71 



mas and creeds prevails in these works, the talents 
and learning of Collins were of the first class. His 
morals were immaculate, and his personal character 
independent j but the odium tfieologicum of those days 
combined every means to stab in the dark, till the 
taste became hereditary with some. I may mention 
a fact of this cruel bigotry which occurred within my 
own observation, on one of the most polished men of 
the age. The late Mr. Cumberland, in the romance 
entitled his 1 Life, ' gave this extraordinary fact. He 
said that Dr. Bentley, who so ably replied to Collinses 
1 Discourse,' when many years after he discovered him 
fallen into great distress, conceiving that by having 
ruined Collinses character as a writer for ever, he had 
been the occasion of his personal misery, he liberally 
contributed to his maintenance. In vain I mentioned 
to that elegant writer, who was not curious about facts, 
that this person could never have been Anthony Col- 
lins, who had always a plentiful fortune ; and when it 
was suggested to him that this i A. Collins ; as he 
piinted it, must have been Arthur Collins, the his- 
toric compiler, who was often in pecuniary difficulties, 
still he persisted in sending the lie down to posterity, 
without alteration, in his second edition, observing to 
a friend of mine, that 'the story, while it told well, 
misfit serve as a striking instance of his great rela- 
tive's generosity ; and that it should stand because it 
could do no harm to any but to Anthony Collins, 
whom he considered as little short of an Atheist. 7 ;J 
Such is a specimen of Christian honor and justice. 

In 1715, appeared his " Philosophical Inquiry into 
Human Liberty/*' Dr. Clarke was again his opponent. 
The publication of this w T ork marked an epoch in me- 
taphysics. Dugald Stewart, in criticising the discus- 
sion on Moral Liberty between Clarke and Leibnitz, 
says, " But soon after this controversy was brought to 
a conclusion by the death of his antagonist, he (Clarke) 
had to renew the same argument, in reply to his coun- 
tryman, Anthony Collins, who. following the footsteps 
of Hobbes, with logical talents not inferior to his mas- 



72 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



ter (and with a weight of personal character in his 

favor to which his master had no pretensions.) gave to 
the cause which he so warmly espoused, a degree of 
credit amongst sober and inquiring politicians, which 
it had never before possessed in England." The fol- 
lowing are the principal arguments of Collins in refer- 
ence to Liberty and Necessity : — 

First. Though I deny Liberty in a certain meaning 
of that word, yet I contend for Liberty, as it signifies 
a power in man to do as lie wills or pleases. 

Secondly. When I affirm Necessity. I contend only 
for moral necessity ; meaning thereby that man, who is 
an intelligent and sensible being, is determined by his 
reason and senses; and 1 deny any man to be subject 
to such necessity as is in clocks, watches, and such 
other beings, which, for want of intelligence and sen- 
sation, are subject to an absolute, physical or mechan- 
ical necessity. 

Thirdly, I have undertaken to show, that the notions 
J advance are so far from being inconsistent with, that 
they are the sole foundation of morality and laws, and 
of rewards and punishments in society, and that the 
notions 1 explode are subversive of them. 

From the above premises. Collins sought to show 
that man is a necessary agent. (1) From our experi- 
ence (through consciousness.) (2) From the impos- 
sibility of liberty. (3) From the consideration of the 
divine prescience. (4) From the nature and use of 
rewards and punishments. (5) From the nature of mo- 
rality. Such were the principles on which the great 
question of Necessity has ever been advocated — from 
Hobbes to Collins, Jonathan Edwards to Mackintosh and 
Spencer, la the year 1704 Toland dedicated to him a 
new translation of iEsop's Fables. There are many 
anecdotes respecting Collins inserted in religious ma- 
gazines, most of which are false, and all without proof. 
One of them, related in a most circumstantial manner, 
appears to be the favorite. It depicts Collins walking 
out in the country on a Sunday morning, when he 
meets a countryman returning from Church. 



ANTHONY COLLINS. 



73 



" Well, Hodge, " says Collins, " so you nave been en- 
joying the fresh breezes of nature, this fine morning. ;; 

The clown replied that " he had been worshipping 
nature : s God,* ; and proved it by repeating the sub- 
stance of the Athanasian creed. Upon which Collins 
questions him as to the residence of his God : and for 
a reply is told that his God is so large, that he fills the 
universe ; and so small that he dwells in his breast. 
This sublime fact, we are told, had more effect upon 
Collins's mind than all the books written against him 
by the clergy. When will sensible men reject such 
charlatanism I 

The next great work of Collins was his " Discourse 
on the Grounds and Reasons of the Christian Religion," 
in two parts. The first containing some considerations 
on the quotations made from the Old in the New Tes- 
tament, and particularly on the prophecies cited from 
the former, and said to be fulfil led in the latter. The 
second containing an examination of the scheme ad- 
vanced by Mr. Whiston, in his essay towards restoring 
the true text of the Old Testament, and for vindicating 
the citations thence made in the New Testament, to 
which is prefixed an apology for free debate and lib- 
erty of writing. This book took the religious world 
by storm • it is even thought it struck more dismay 
amongst divines than his former essay on Freeihink- 
ing. The book proceeds to show that Christianity is 
not proved by prophecy. That the Apostles relied on 
the predictions in the Old Testament, and their fulfil- 
ment in Jesus as the only sure proof of the truth of 
their religion : if, therefore, the prophecies are not 
thoroughly literal, and fulfilled distinctly, there can 
be no proof in Christianity. He then examines the 
principal prophecies, and dismisses them, as allegori- 
cal fables too vague to be of any credit. In less than 
two years no less than thirty-five books were publish- 
ed in reply to this work, written by the ablest and 
most influential theologians in England. In 1727 Col- 
lins published another large work, " The Scheme of 
Literal Prophecy Considered," in which he still further 



74 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



defends his view principally against the sophistical rea- 
soning of Whiston, and finally vanquished the whole 
of his opponents. 

Perhaps no Fieethinker, with the single exception 
of Hobbes, was so attacked during his life as Collins.. 
ToJand and Wool^ton were persecuted and driven into 
prison and poverty; but Collins, with his profusion of 
wealth, could oppose Christianity with applanse — min- 
gle in the gaiety of the Court — occupy a seat on the 
magisterial bench — be the welcome guest of the most 
liberal of the aristocracy, contemporary with others 
who even languished in prison for the propagation of 
similar sentiments. Since his day the clergy have 
grown wiser; then the most trivial pamphlet on the 
Deistic side created a consternation amongst the saints, 
and they strove who should be the first to answer it — 
indeed, it was considered a test of honor amongst the 
clergy to be eager in the exposure of Deism ; but this 
style of warfare was discontinued after the lapse of a 
few 7 years. The most discerning observers discoveied 
that in proportion to the answers pubiished a^ain.>t 
liberal works, the influence of the most powerful >ide 
decreased. Force, then, gradually interfered, and acts 
of Parliament were couriered the only logical refuta- 
tion of a philosophical heresy. The auomaly of our 
laws interfered again. Collins was rich, and so must 
escape the fangs of the law. Thomas Woolston was 
poor, so his vnals were pierced by laws which Collins 
escaped — yet both committed the same offence. In 
later times Gibbon traced the rise of Christianity, and 
about the same time Paine accomplished another por- 
tion of the same risk — and the Government which pro- 
secuted the plebeian, flattered the patrician. But 
Collins's time w T as rapidly drawing nigh. On the 13th 
of December, 1729, he expired, aged fifty-three years ; 
and to show the esteem in which his character was 
held, the following notice was inserted in the news- 
papers of the day — all hostile to his views, yet striving 
to make it appear that he was, after all, not so great 
an Infidel as his reputation honored him with : — " On 



ANTHONY COLLINS. 71 

Saturday last, died at his house in Harley Square, An 
thony Collins, Esq. He was a remarkably active, up 
right, and impartial magistrate, the tender husband 
the kind parent, the good master, and the true fiiend 
He was a great promoter of literature in all its branch 
es ) and an immoveable asserter of universal liberty 
in all civil and religious matters. Whatever his senti- 
ments were on certain points, this is what he declared 
at the time of his death — viz., that he had always en- 
deavored, to the best of his ability, to serve God, his 
king, and his country, so he was persuaded he was 
going to that place which God hath prepared for them 
that serve him, and presently afterwards he said, the 
Catholic religion is to serve God and man. He was 
an eminent example of temperance and sobriety, and 
one that had the true art of living. His worst enemies 
could never charge him with any vice or immorality." 

With this character the Freethinkers have no right 
to be dissatisfied. The Abbe Lodivicat says, "His li- 
brary was curious and valuable; always open to the 
learned, even to his opponents, whom he furnished 
with pleasure, both with books and arguments, which 
were employed in confuting him." Mr. DTsraeli says 
he has seen a catalogue of Collins's library, elaborate- 
ly drawn up in his own handwriting, and it must have 
contained a splendid selection of books. This is proved 
by the correspondence with Locke, and the extensive 
number of quotations spread thoughout his published 
works. 

By the death of Collins, and the defalcation of one 
who abused the name of a Deist, the cause of Free- 
thought was impeded at the time when it most need- 
ed assistance. Collins had written a great number of 
tracts and larger works, intending them to be publish- 
ed after his death : one collection of eight octavo vol- 
umes of manuscript containing the attacks upon Chris- 
tianity, by which he intended his name to be transmit- 
ted to posterity, were all arranged ready for publica- 
tion as his posthumous works. To ensure their credit- 
able appearance, and to reward a man whom he had 



76 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



thought worthy of confidence, and one who professed 
to be a disciple of Collins, he bequeathed them to Des 
Maizeaux, then a popular author and editor. He had 
edited the correspondence of Locke and Collins, writ- 
ten the lile of Bayle, and subsequently edited Toland. 
The idea of Collins was to give his work to Des Maiz- 
eaux for a recompense for the trouble of publishing 
them, while he would derive the whole profits of their 
sale, which no doubt would be very large. It appears 
that the widow of Collins was much younger tha i 
himself — in league with the Church of England ; and 
was in rather a suspicious friendship with more than 
one clerical antagonist of her late husband. Des Maiz- 
eaux being worked upon conjointly by Mrs. Collins and 
a person named Tomlinson, was induced to accept a 
present of fifty guineas, and relinquished the po--es- 
sion of the manuscripts. It was not long, however, 
before his conscience accused him of the great wrong- 
done to the memory of his benefactor, and to the Free- 
thinking cause. His regret was turned into the most 
profound compunction for his crime; and in this state 
of mind he wrote a long letter to one who had been a 
mutual friend to Collins and himself, acknowledging 
that he had done " a most wicked thing/' saying — " \ 
am convinced that I have acted contrary to the will 
and intention of my dear deceased friend ; showed a 
disregard to the particular mark of esteem he gave 
me on that, occasion \ in short, that I have forfeited 
what is dearer to me than my own life — honor and re- 
putation [ send you the fifty guineas I received, 

which I do now look upon as the wages of iniquity, 
and I desire you to return them to Mrs. Collins, who, 
as I hope it of her justice, equity, and regard to Mr. 
Collins's intentions, will be pleased to cancel my 
paper/' 7 

This appeal (which proved that Des Maizeaux, if he 
was weak-minded, was not absolutely dishonest) had 
no effect on Mrs. Collins. The manuscripts were never 
returned. What their contents were, no one now can 
inform us. We are justified, however, in supposing 



ANTHONY COLLINS. 



77 



that as those eight volumes were the crowning efforts 
of a mind which in its youth was brilliant in no com- 
mon degree, must have been even superior to those 
books which routed England from its dreamy lethar- 
gy, and brought about a revolution in controversy. 
Whether they touched upon miracles, or the external 
evidences, or the morals of Christism, is unknown. 
The curtain was drawn over the scene of demolition. 
Seven years after this time ihe controversy was re- 
opened by Mrs. Collins, in the year 1737, on account 
of a report being current that Mrs. C. had permitted 
transcripts of those manuscripts to get abroad. The 
widcw wrote some very sharp letters to Des Maizeaux, 
and he replied in a tone which speaks faithfully of the 
affection he still bore to Coliins's memory. He con- 
cludes thus: — u Mr. Collins loved me and esteemed 
me for my integriiy and sincerity, of which he had 
several proofs. How I have been drawn in to injure 
him, to forfeit the good opinion he had of me, and 
which, were he now alive, would deservedly expose 
me to his utmost contempt, is a grief which I shall 
carry to the grave. Tt would be a sort of comfort to 
me if those who have consented I should be drawn in, 
were in some measure sensible of the guilt towards so 
good, kind, generous a man." 

Such is an epitome of the secret history of the MSS. 
of Anthony Collins. If we look at the fate of the MSS. 
of other Deists, we shall have good reasons for believ- 
ing that some of the ablest writings, meant to give a 
posthumous reputation to their authors, have disap- 
peared into the hands of either ignorant or designing 
persons. Five volumes, at least, of Toland's works, 
meant for publication, were, by his death, irretriev- 
ably lost. Blount's MSS. never appeared. Two vol- 
umes of Tindall's were seized by the Bishop of Lon- 
don, and destroyed. Woolston's MSS. met with no 
better fate. Chubb carefully prepared his works, and 
published them in. his lifetime. Bolingbroke made 
Mallet his confidant, as Collins did by Des Maizeaux. 
The name of St. John produced £10,000 to Mallet; 



78 



BIOGRAFH Y OF 



but those works were left with the tacit acknowledg- 
ment that the Scotch poet should write a suitable life 
of the peer. The letter of Mallet to Lord Cornbury 
can only be compared to an invitation for a bid for the 
suppression of the u Philosophical Works " of St. John - 
and if this was not sufficient, we need only instance 
the apparent solicitation with which he stopped a well- 
known influential dignitary of the church on the day 
when the works were to appear, by pulling out his 
watch, and saying, u My Lord, Christianity will trem- 
ble at a quarter to twelve." We "may be thankful to 
the pecuniary poverty of our opponents even for the 
possession of the first philosophy. Some of Hume's 
and Gibbon's works ha#e not yet appeared. The MSS. 
of most of the minor Freethinkers disappeared with 
their authors. There is no doubt but what Kobert 
Taylor left some valuable writings which cannot be 
recovered. Such is the feeble chance of great men's 
writings being published when they are no longer 
alive. 

With regard to the literary claims of Collins. His 
works are logically composed a*nd explicitly worded. 
He invariably commences by stating the groundwork 
of his opponent's theories, and Irom them deduces a 
great number of facts and axioms of a contrary charac- 
ter, and upon those builds his whole chain of argu- 
ment. He is seldom witty — never uses the flowers 
of rhetoric, combining a most rigid analysis with a 
synthetic scheme, admitting but of one unswerving 
end. He was characteristically gpeat in purpose. He 
avoided carrying forward his arguments beyond the- 
basis of his facts. Whether in treating the tangled 
intricacies of necessity, or the theological quagmires 
of prophecy, he invariably explained without confus- 
ing, and refuted without involving other subjects than 
those legitimately belonging to the controversy. His 
style of writing was serious, plain, and without an un- 
due levity, yet withal perfectly readable. Men studied 
Collins who shrunk from contact with the lion-hearted 
Woolstoiij whose brusque pen too often shocked those 



ANTHONY COLLINS. 



79 



it failed to convince. There was a timidity in many 
of the letters of Blount, and a craving wish to rely 
more on the witticisms of Brown, than was to be found 
in the free and manly spirit of our hero. To the gene-' 
ral public, the abstruse speculations of the persecuted 
Toland were a barrier which his many classical allu- 
sions only heightened • and the musical syllables of 
Shaftesbury, with his style, at once so elevated, so 
pompous, and so quaint : or the political economic 
doctrines of Mancleville, all tended to exalt the name 
of Collins above those of his contemporaries and im- 
mediate successors ; and posterity cannot fail to place 
his bust in that historic niche betwixt Hobbes — his 
master on one hand — and Bolingbroke, his successor, 
on the other. From the great St. John has descended 
in the true apostolical descent the mantle of Free- 
thought upon Hume, Gibbon, Paine, Godwin, Carlile, 
Taylor, and Owen. And amongst this brilliant galaxy 
of genius, no name is more deserving of respect than 
that of Anthony Collins. A. C. 



BIOGRAPHY 

OF 

DES CARTES. 



Rene des Cartes Duperron, better known as Des 
Cartes, the father of modern philosophy, was born at 
La Have, in Touraine, of Breton parents, near the close 
of the sixteenth century, at a time when Bacon was like 
the morning sun, rising to shed new rays of bright light 
over the then dark world of philosophy. The mother 
of Des Cartes died while he was but a few days old, 
and himself a sickly child, he began to take part in 
the battle of life with but little appearance of ever 
possessing the capability for action on the minds of his 
fellows, which he afterwards so fully exercised. De- 
barred, however, by his physical weakness from many 
boyish pursuits, he devoted himself to study in his ear- 
liest years, and duiing his youth gained the title of 
the young philosopher, from his eagerness to learn, 
and from his earnest endeavors by inquiry and experi- 
ment to solve every problem presented to his notice. 
He was educated in the Jesuits' College of La Fleche ; 
and the monument erected to him at Stockholm in- 
forms us, <: That having mastered all the learning of 
the schools, which proved short of his expectations, he 
betook himself to the army in Germany and Hungary, 
and there spent his vacant winter hours in comparing 
the mysteries and phenomena of nature with the laws 
of mathematics, daring to hope that the one might 
serve as a key to the oiher. Quitting, therefore, all 
other pursuits, he retired to a little village near Eg- 



82 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



mont, in Holland, where spenfling twenty-five years in 
continual reading and meditation, he effected his de- 
sign. " 

In his celebrated u Discourse on Method.'' he says, 
— " As soon as my age permitted me to leave my pre- 
ceptors, 1 entirely gave up the study of letters ; and, 
resolving to seek no other science than that which I 
could find in myself, or else in the great book of the 
world, I employed the remainder ot my youth in travel 
— in seeing courts and camps — in frequenting people 
of diverse humors and conditions — in collecting various 
experiences; and, above all, in endeavoring to draw 
some profitable reflection from w T Uat I saw. For it 
seemed to me that I should meet with more truth in 
the reasonings which each man makes in his own af- 
fairs, and which, if wrong, would be speedily punished 
by failure, than in those reasonings which the philoso- 
pher makes in his study upon speculations which pro- 
duce no effect, and which are of no consequence to 
him, except perhaps that he will be the more vain of 
them, the more remote they are from common sense, 
because he would then have been forced to employ 
more ingenuity and subtlety to render them plausible." 

At the age of thirty-three Des Cartes retired from 
the world for a period of eight years, and his seclusion 
was so effectual during that time, that his place of re- 
sidence was unknown to his friends. He there pre- 
pared the u Meditations," and " Discourse on Method,' 7 
w^hich have since caused so much pen-and-ink warfare 
amongst those who have aspired to be ranked as philo- 
sophical thinkers. He became European in fame ; 
and, invited by Christina of Sweden, he visited her 
kingdom, but the rudeness of the climate proved too 
much for his delicate frame, and he died at Stockholm 
in the year 1650, from inflammation of the lungs, be- 
ing fifty-four years of age at the time of his death. 

Des Cartes was perhaps the most original thinker that 
France had up to that date produced ; and, contempo- 
rary w T ith Bacon, he exercised a powerful influence on 
the progress of thought in Europe; but although a 



DES CARTES 



83 



great thinker, he was not a brave man, and the fear of 
giving offence to the church and government, has cer- 
tainly prevented him from making public some of his 
writings, and perhaps has toned down some of thi.se 
thoughts which, when first uttered, took a higher 
flight, and struck fall home to the tiuth itself. 

The father and founder of the deductive method, 
Des Cartes still proudly reigns to the present day, al- 
tnough some of his conclusions have been over-turned, 
and others of his thinkings have been carried to con- 
clusions which he never dared to dream of. He gave 
a strong aid to the tendency of advancing civilization, 
to separate philosophy from theology, thereby striking 
a blow, slow in its effect, and effectual in its destruc- 
tive operation, on all priestcraft. In his dedication ot 
the " Meditations," he says, — ,: I have always thought 
that the two questions of the existence of God. and 
the nature of the soul, were the chief of those which 
ought to be demonstrated rather by philosophy than 
by theology; for although it is sufficient for us, the 
faithful, to believe in God, and that the soul does not 
perish with the body, it does not seem possible ever 
to persuade the Infidels to any religion, unless we first 
prove to them these two things by natural reason." 

Having relinquished faith, he found that he must 
choose an entirely new faith in which to march with 
reason; the old ways were so cumbered with priests 
and Bibles, that progression would have been impossi- 
ble. This gave us his method. He wanted a starting 
point from w 7 hich to reason, some indisputable fact 
upon which to found future thinkings. 

£< He has given us the detailed history of his doubts. 
He has told us how he found that he could, plausibly 
enough, doubt of everything except his own existence. 
He pushed his scepticism to the verge of self-annihila- 
tion. There he stopped : there in self, there in his 
consciousness, he found at last an irresistible fact, an 
irreversible certainty. Firm ground was discovered. 
He could doubt the existence of the external world, 
and treat it as a phantasm. He could doubt the ex- 



51 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



istence of God, and treat the belief as a superstition. 
But of the existence of bis own thinking, doubting 
mind ; no sort of doubt was possible. He. the doubter, 
existed if nothing else existed. The existence that 
was revealed to him in his osvn consciousness, was the 
primary fact, the hist indubitable certainly. Hence 
his famous Cogito ergo Sum: I think, therefore I am." ; 
(Lewes s Bio. Hist. Phil.) 

Proceeding from the certainty cf his existence. Des 
Cartes endeavors to rind other equally certain facts, 
and for that purpose presents the following doctrine 
and rules for our guidance : — The basis of all certitude 
is consciousness, consciousness is the sole foundation 
of absolute certainly, whatever it distinctly proclaims 
must be true. The process is, theiefore, rendered 
clear and simple : examine your consciousness — each 
distinct reply will be a fact. 

He tells us further that all clear ideas are true — that 
whatever is clearly and distinctly conceived is true — 
and in these lie the vitality of his system, the cause of 
the truth or error of his thinkings. 

The following are the rules he gave us for the de- 
tection and separation of true ideas from false, (i. e. } 
imperfect or complex) : — 

- 1. Never to accept anything as true but what is 
evidently so ; to admit nothing but what so clearly and 
distinctly piesents itself as true, 'that there can be no 
reason to doubt it. 

u 2. To divide every question into as many separate 
parts as possible, that each part being more easily con- 
ceived, the whole may be more intelligible. 

3. To conduct the examination with order, begin- 
ning by that of objects the most simple, and therelore 
the easiest to be known, and ascending little by little 
up to knowledge of the most complex. 

■• 4. To make such exact calculations, and such cir- 
cumspections as to be confident that nothing essential 
has been omitted. Consciousness being the basis of 
all certitude, everything of which you are clearly and 
distinctly conscious must be true : everything which 



DES CARTES. 



85 



you clearly and distinctly conceive, exists, if the idea 
of it involve existence." 

In these four rules we have the essential part of one 
half of Des Cartes's system, the other, which is equally 
important, is the attempt to solve metaphysical pro- 
blems by mathematical aid. To mathematics he had 
devoted much of his time. He it was who, at the 
age of twenty three, made the grand discovery of the 
applicability of algebra to geometry. While deeply en- 
gaged in mathematical studies and investigations, he 
came to the conclusion that mathematics were capable 
of a still further simplification, and of much more ex- 
tended application. Impressed with the certainty of 
the conclusions arrived at by the aid of mathematical 
reasoning, he began to apply mathematics to meta- 
physics. 

His ambition was to found a system which should 
be solid and convincing Having searched for certi- 
tude, he had found its basis in consciousness; he next 
wanted a method, and hoped he had found it in mathe- 
maiics. He tells us that " i'hose long chains of rea- 
soning, all simple and easy, by which geometers used 
to arrive at their most difficult demonstrations, sug- 
gested to him that all things which came within hu- 
man knowledge, must follow each other in a similar 
chain ; aud that provided we abstain from admitting 
anything as true which is not so, and that we always 
preserve in them the order necessary to deduce one 
from the other, there can be none so remote to which 
we cannot finally attain, nor so obscure but that we 
may discover them." 

Acting out this, he dealt with metaphysics as we 
should with a pioblem from Euclid, and expected by 
rigorous reasoning to discover the truth. He, like 
Archimedes, had wished for a standing place from 
which to use the lever, that should overturn the world : 
but, having a sure standing place in the indubitable 
fact of his own existence, he did not possess sufficient 
courage to put forth the mighty pow r er — it was lett for 
8 



86 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



Due who came after him to fairly attempt the over- 
throw of the world of error so long eystent. 

Cartesianism was sufficiently obnoxious to the di- 
vines to provoke their wrath ; and yet. from some of 
its peculiarities, it has found many opponents among & t 
the philosophical party. Tne Cartesian philosophy is 
founded on two great principles, the one metaphysical, 
the other physical. The metaphysical is Des Carte-'s 
foundation-stone — the " I think, therefore I am.' , This 
has been warmly attacked as not being logical Des 
Cartes said his existence was a fact — a fact above and 
beyond all logic; logic could neither prove nor dis- 
prove it. The Cogito ergo Sum was not new itself, but 
it was the first stone of a new building — the first step 
in a new road: from this fact Des Cartes tiied to reach 
another, and from that others. 

The physical principle is that nothing exists but 
substance, which he makes ol tvvo kind^ — the one a 
substance that thinks, the other a substance extended. 
Actual thought and actual extension aie the es?ei,ce 
of substance, so that the thinking substance cannot be 
without some actual thought, nor can anything be re- 
trenched from the extension of a thing, without taking 
away so much of its aciual substance. 

In his physical speculations. Des Cartes has allowed 
his imagination to run very wild. His famous theory 
of vortices is an example of this. Assuming ext- - 
sion to be the essence oi substance, he denied the pos- 
sibility of a vacuum by that assumption : for if exten- 
sion be the essence of substance, wherever extension 
is, there substance must be. This substance he as- 
sumes to have originally been divided into equal angu- 
lar particles, each endowed with an equal degree of 
motion : sevetal systems or collections of these par- 
ticles he holds to have a motion about certain equi dis- 
tant points, or centres, and that the particles moving 
round these compo-ed so many vortices. These angu- 
lar particles, by their intestine motions, he supposes 
to become, as it were, ground iuio a spherical form; 



DBS CARTfTa. 



87 



the parts rubbed off are called matter of the first ele- 
ment, while the spherical globules he calls matter of 
the second element; and since there would be a large 
quantity of this element, he supposes it to be driven 
towards the centre of each vortex by the circular mo- 
tion of the globules, and that there it forms a large 
spherical body such as the sun. This sun being thus 
formed, and moving about its own axis with the com- 
mon matter of the vortex, w T ould necessarily throw out 
some parts of its matter, through the vacuities of the 
globules of the second element constituting the vor- 
tex ; and this especially at such places as are farthest 
from its poles ; receiving, at the same time in, by these 
poles, as much as it loses in its equatorial parts. And, 
by these means, it would be able to carry round with 
it those globules that are nearest, with the greater 
velocity; and the remoter, with less. And, further: 
those globules which are nearest the centre of the 
sun, must be smallest; because, were they greater, or 
equal, they would, by reason of their velocity, have a 
greater centrifugal force, and recede from the centre. 
If it should happen that any of these sun-like bodies, 
in the centres of the several vortices, should be so in- 
crusted and weakened, as to be carried about in the 
vortex of the true sun : if it were of less solidity, or 
had less motion than the globules towards the extremi- 
ty of the solar vortex, it would descend towards the 
sun, till it met with globules of the same solidity, and 
susceptible of the same degree of motion with itself* 
and thus, being fixed there, it would be for ever after 
carried about by the motion of the vortex, without 
either approaching any nearer to, or receding from 
the sun, and so become a planet. Supposing, then, 
all this, we are next to imagine that our system was 
at first divided into several vortices, in the centre of 
each of which was a lucid spherical body ; and tiiat 
some of these being gradually incrustated, were swal- 
lowed up by others which were larger, and more pow- 
erful, till at last they were all destroyed and swallow- 
ed up by the biggebt solar vortex, except some few 



88 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



which were thrown off in right lines from one vortex 
to another, and so became comets. It should also be 
added, that in addition to the two elements mentioned 
above, those particles which may yet exist, arid be 
only in the course of reduction to their globular form, 
and still retain their angular proportions, form a thiid 
element. 

This theory has found many opponents ; but in this 
state of our work we conceive our duty to be that of 
giving a simple narrative of the philosopher's ideas, 
rather than a history of the various criticisms upon 
those ideas, the more especially as our pages scarcely 
afford room for such a mode of treatment. 

Having formed his method, Des Cartes proceeded to 
apply it. The basis of certitude being consciousness, 
he interrogated his consciousness, and found that he 
had an idea of a substance infinite, eternal, immuta- 
ble, independent, omniscient, omnipotent. This he 
called an idea of God : he said, u I exist as a miserably 
imperfect finite being, subject to change — ignorant, 
incapable of creating anything — I find by my finitude 
that I am not the infinite ; by my liability to change 
that I am not the immutable ; by my ignorance that I 
am not the omniscient: in short, by my imperfection, 
that I am not the perfect. Yet an infinite, immutable, 
omniscient, and perfect being must exist, because in- 
finity, immutability, omniscience, and perfection are 
applied as correlatives in my ideas of finitude, change, 
etc. God therefore exists: his existence is clearly 
proclaimed in my consciousness, and therefore ceases 
to be a matter of doubt any more than the fact of my 
own existence. The conception of an infinite being 
proved his real existence, for if there is not really such 
a being I must have made the conception; but if I 
could make it I can also unmake it, which evidently is 
not true ; therefore there must be externally to myself, 
an archetype from which the conception was derived." 

All that we clearly and distinctly 
conceive as contained in anything is true of that 
thing." 



DES CARTES. 



89 



" Now, we conceive clearly and distinctly that the 
existence of God is contained in the idea we have of 
him: ergo — God exists." — (Lewes' s Bio. Hist. Phil.) 

Des Cartes was of opinion that his demonstrations of 
the existence of God " equal or even surpass in certi- 
tude the demonstrations of geometry." in this opin- 
ion we must confess we cannot share. He has already 
told us that the basis of all certitude is consciousness — 
that whatever is clearly and distinctly conceived, must 
be true — that imperfect and complex conceptions are 
false ones. The first proposition, all must admit, is ap- 
plicable to themselves. I conceive a fact clearly and 
distinctly, and, despite all resistance, am compelled to 
accept that fact; and if that fact be accepted beyond 
doubt, no higher degree of certainty can be attained, 
That two and two are four — that I exist — are facts 
which I never doubt. The Cogito ergo Sum is irresisti- 
ble, because indubitable • but Cogito ergo Deus est is a 
sentence requiring much consideration, and upon the 
face of it is no syllogism, but, on the contrary, is illogi- 
cal. If Des Cartes meant tc I" am conscious that I am 
not the whole of existence, he would be indisputable ; 
but if he meant that " 1 17 can be conscious of an exist- 
ence entirely distinct, apart from, and external to, that 
very consciousness, then his whole reasoning from that 
point appears fallacious. 

We use the word " I " as given by Des Cartes. Mill, 
in his " System of Logic," says, " The ambiguity in 
this case is in the pronoun T, by which in one place is 
to be understood my will: in another the laws of my na- 
ture. If the conception, existing as it does in my 
mind, had nc original without, the conclusion would 
unquestionably follow that c l 7 had made it — that is, 
that the laws of my nature had spontaneously evolved 
it ; but that my will made it would- not follow. Now, 
when Des Cartes afterwards adds that I cannot unmake 
the conception, he means that I cannot get rid of it by 
an act of my will, which is true : but is not the propo- 
sition required. That what some of the laws of my 
nature have produced, other laws, or those same laws 
8* 



\ 



90 BIOGRAPHY OF 

in other circumstance?, mi^ht not subsequently efface, 
he would have found it difficult to establish." 

Tieating the existence ot God eb demonstrated from 
the a priori idea of perfection and infinity, and by the 
clearness of his idea of God's existence, Des Cartes 
then proceeds to deal with the distinction between 
body and soul. To prove this distinction was to him an 
easy matter. The fundamental and essential attribute 
of substance must be extension, because we can de- 
nude substance of every quality but that of extension ; 
this we cannot touch without at the same time affect- 
ing the substance. The fundamental attribute of 
mind is thought • it is in the act of thinking that the 
consciousness of existence is revealed ; to be without 
thought would be to be without consciousness. 

Des Cartes has given us, among others, the axiom 
" That two substances are really distinct when their 
ideas are complete, and no way imply each other. 
The idea of extension is complete and distinct from the 
idea of thought, which latter is also clear and distinct 
by itself. It follows, therefore, that substance and 
mind are distinct in essence. ;; 

Des Cartes has, from the vagueness of some of his 
statements, subjected himself to the charge of assert- 
ing the existence of innate ideas, and the following 
quotations will speak for themselves on the subject : — 
" When ] said that the idea of God is innate in us, I 
never meant more than this, that Nature has endowed 
us with a faculty by which we may know God ; but I 
have never either said or thought that such ideas had 
an actual existence, or even that they were a species 

distinct from the faculty of thinking Although the 

idea of God is so imprinted on our minds, that every 
person has within him the faculty of knowing him, it 
does not follow that there may not have been various 
individuals who have passed through life without ever 
making this idea a distinct object of apprehension : and, 
in truth, they who think they have an idea of a plural- 
ity of Gods, have no idea of God whatever. ;; This 
seems explicit as negativing the charge of holding the 



DES CARTES. 



91 



doctrine of innate ideas; but in the Edinburgh Review 
several passages are given, amongst which is the fol- 
lowing : — " By the word idea I understand all that can 
be in our thoughts; and I distinguish three sorts of 
ideas — adventitious, like the common idea of the sun, 
framed by the mind, such as that which astronomical 
reasoning gives of the sun ; and innate, as the idea of 
God, mind, body, a triangle, and generally all tho^e 
which represent true, immutable, and eternal es- 
sences." With regard to these rather opposite state- 
ments, Lewes says, " If Des Cartes, when pressed by 
objections, gave different explanations, we must only 
set it down to a want of a steady conception of the 
vital importance of innate ideas to his system. The 
fact remains that innate ideas form the necessary 

groundwork of the Cartesian doctrine The radical 

error of all ontological speculation lies in the assump- 
tion that we have ideas independent of experience ; 
because experience can only tell us of ourselves or of 

phenomena; of noumena it can tell us nothing 

The fundamental question, then, of modern philosophy 
is this — Have we any ideas independent of experi- 
ence % " 

Des Cartes's disciples are of two classes, the " math- 
ematical cultivators of physic," and the " deductive 
cultivators of philosophy." The first class of disciples 
are far in advance of their chief, and can only be con- 
sidered as having received an impulse in a true direc- 
tion. The second class unhesitatingly accepted his 
principles, and continued his thinking, although they 
developed his system in a different manner, and arrived 
at stronger conclusions than Des Caites's courage would 
have supported. Some of the physical speculations of 
Des Cartes have been much ridiculed by subsequent 
writers ; but many reasons may be urged, not only 
against that ridicule, but also against the more mode- 
rate censure which several able critics have dealt out 
against the intellectual character of Des Cartes. It 
should be remembered that the theories of all his pre- 
decessors were mere conjectural speculations respect- 



92 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



ing the places and paths of celestial bodies, etc. In- 
numerable hypotheses had been formed and found 
useless; and we ought rather to look to what Des 
Cartes did accomplish under the many difficulties of 
his position, in respect to the then state ot scientific 
knowledge, than to judge harshly of those speculations, 
which, though attended with no beneficial result to 
humanity at large, were doubtless well intended by 
their author. He was the first man who brought opti- 
cal science under the command of mathematics, by the 
discovery of the law of refi action of the ordinary ray 
through diaphanous bodies : and probably there is 
scarcely a name on record, the bearer of which has 
given a greater impulse to mathematical and philo- 
sophical inquiry than Des Cartes. Although, as a 
mathematician, he published but little, yet in every 
subject which he has treated he has opened, not only a 
new field lor iuvesiigation, but also a new road for the 
investigators to proceed by. His discovery of the sim- 
ple application of the notation ot indices to algebraical 
powers, has totally remodelled the whole science of 
algebra. His conception of expressing the fundamen- 
tal property of curve lines and curve surfaces by equa- 
tions between the co-ordinates has led to an almost total 
supersedence of the geometry of the ancients. Con- 
temporary with Galileo, and with a knowledge of the 
persecution to wnich that father of physics was being 
subjected by the Chuich, we are tempted to express 
our surprise that Des Cartes did not extend the right 
hand of fellowship, help, and sympathy to his brother 
philosopher ; but it is, nevertheless, the fact, that either 
jealous of the fame of Galileo (as some have alleged.) 
or from a fear of being involved in the same persecu- 
tions, Des Cartes abstained from visiting the astrono- 
mer, although travelling for some time near his place 
ot abode in Italy. Lewes, in his li Life of Des Cartes/' 
says, Des Cartes was a great thinker : but having 
said this we have almost exhausted the praise we can 
bestow on him as a man. In disposition he was timid 
to servility. While promulgating the proofs of the ex- 



DES CARTES. 



93 



istence of the Deity, he was in evident alarm lest the 
Church should see something objectionable in them. 
He had also written an astronomical treatise; but hear- 
ing of the fate of Galileo he refrained from publishing, 
and always used some chicanery in speaking of the 
world's movement. He was not a brave man \ he was 
also not an affectionate one. There was in him a de- 
ficiency of all finer feelings. But he was even-tem- 
pered, and studious of not giving offence.' 7 

We are tempted, after a careful perusal of the life 
and writings of Des Cartes and his contemporaries, to 
be of opinion that he was a man who wished to be con- 
sidered the chief thinker of his day, and who shunned 
and rejected the offers of friendship from other philoso- 
phers, lest they, by being associated with him, should 
jointly wear laurels which he was cultivating solely to 
form a crown for himself. Despite all, his brow still 
bears a crown, and his" fame has a freshness that we 
might all be justly proud of, if appertaining to our- 
selves. 

We trust that in these few pages we have succeeded 
in presenting Des Cartes, to such of our readers who 
were unacquainted with his writings, sufficiently well « 
to enable them to appreciate him, and to induce them 
to search further ; and at the same time we hope that 
those better acquainted with him will not blame as for 
the omission of much which they may consider more 
important than the matter which appears in this little 
tract. We have endeavored to picture Des Cartes as 
the founder of the deductive method, as having the 
foundation-stone of all his reasoning in his conscious- 
ness. "I." 



BIOGRAPHY 



OF 

M. DE VOLTAIKE. 



FRANqois Marie Arouet, better known by the name 
of Voltaire, was born at Chatenay, on the 20th of 
February, 1694. By assuming the name of Voltaire, 
young Arouet followed the custom, at that time gene- 
rally practiced by the rich citizens and younger sons, 
who, leaving the family name to the heir, assumed 
that of a fief, or perhaps of a country house. The 
father of M. de Voltaire was treasurer to the Chamber 
of Accounts, and his mother, Margaret d'Aumart, was 
of a noble family of Poitou. The fortune which the 
father enjoyed, enabled him to bestow a first-class edu- 
cation upon the young Arouet, who was sent to the 
Jesuits' College, where the sons of the nobility receiv- 
ed their education.* While at school, Voltaire began 
to write poetry, and gave signs of a remarkable genius. 
His tutors, Fathers Poree and Jay, from the boldness 
and independence of his mind, predicted that he would 
become the apostle of Deism in France. This predic- 
tion he fulfilled. u Voltaire was," says Lord Brougham, 
"through his whole life, a sincere believer in the ex 
istence and attributes of the Deity. He was a firm and 
decided, and an openly declared unbeliever in Chris- 
tianity; but he was, without any hesitation or any in- 
termission, a Theist." His open declaration of disbe- 
lief in the inspiration of the Bible, and his total rejec- 
tion of the dogmas of Christianity, laid him open to the 
malignant attacks and misrepresentations of the priest- 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



hood and the bigots of Europe; and so strong were 
they, that his life was continually in danger. Lord 
Brougham, in his " Men of Letters of the Time of 
George III.," says : — " Voltaire's name is so intimately 
connected in the minds of all men with Infidelity, in 
the minds of most men with irreligion, and, in the 
minds of all who are not well-informed, with these quali- 
ties alone, that whoever undertakes to write his life 
and examine his claims to the vast reputation which 
all the hostile feelings excited by him against himself 
have never been able to destroy, or even materially to 
impair, has to labor under a great load of prejudice, 
and can hardly expect, by any detail of particulars, to 
obtain for his subject even common justice at the hands 
of the general reader." 

Voltaire was born in a corrupt age, and in a capital 
where it was fashionable to be immoral. When he 
left College, he was introduced by his own godfather, 
the Abbe de Chateauneuf, to the notorious Ninon de 
I'Enclos, who, at her death, left him by will two thous- 
and livres to purchase books. In estimating the char- 
acter of Voltaire, a due consideration must be had for 
the period in which he lived, and of the nature of the 
society amidst which he was reared. He lived twenty 
years under the reign of Louis XIV., and during the 
whole of the reign of the infamous Louis XV., when 
kings, courtiers, and priests set the example of the 
grossest immorality. It was then, as Voltaire said, 
"that to make the smallest fortune, it was better to 
say four words to the mistress of a king, than to write 
a hundred volumes. 77 

Voltaire's life, from his youth upwards, was a stormy 
one. After he left College, his father, finding him 
persist in writing poetry, and living at large, forbade 
him his house. He insisted upon his son binding him- 
self to an attorney. But his restless disposition quite 
unfitted him for regular employment, and he soon quit- 
ted the profession. He early made the acquaintance 
of the most celebrated men of his time, but his genius, 
his wit. and his sarcasm, soon raised up numerous ene- 



VOLTAIRE. 



97 



mies. At the age of twenty-two, he was accused of 
having written a satire upon Louis XIV., who was just 
dead, and was thrown into the Bastile. Bat he was 
not cast down. It was here that he sketched his poem 
of the " League," corrected his tragedy of " Oedipus," 
and wrote some merry verses on the misfortune of be- 
ing a prisoner. The Regent, Duke of Orleans, being 
informed of his innocence, restored him to freedom, 
and granted him a recompense. " I thank your royal 
highness," said Voltaire, " for having provided me 
with food; but I hope you will not hereafter trouble 
yourself concerning my lodging." 

Voltaire, with his activity of mind, and living to so 
great an age, must necessarily produce many works. 
They are voluminous, consisting of history, poetry, and 
philosophy. His dramatic pieces are numerous, many 
of which are considered second only to Shakspeare's. 
"CEflipus," "Zadig," " Ingenu," " Zaire," "Henri- 
ade," " Irene," "Tancred," " Mahomet," " Merope," 
"Saul," "Alzire," " Le Fanalisme," " Mariamne," 
" Gaston de Foix," " Enfant Prodigue," " Pucelle d'Or- 
leans," an essay on " Fire," the " Eiements," " Histo- 
ry of Charles XII.," " Lectures on Man," " Letters on 
England," " Memoirs,'- " Voyage of Sacramentado," 
" Micromegas," " Maid of Orleans," " Brutus," " Ade- 
laide," "Death of Caesar," "Temple of Taste," "Es- 
say on the Manners and Spirit of Nations," " An Ex- 
amination of the Holy Scriptures," and the " Philo- 
sophical Dictionary," are works that emanated from the 
active brain of this wit, poet, satirist, and philosopher. 

In 1722, while at Brussels, Voltaire met Jean Bap- 
tiste Rousseau, whose misfortunes he deplored, and 
whose poetic talents he esteemed. Voltaire read some 
of his poems to Rousseau, and he in return read to Vol- 
m taire his " Ode addressed to Posterity," which Voltaire, 
it is asserted, told him would never arrive at the place 
to which it was addressed. The two poets parted ir- 
reconcileable foes. 

In 1725, Voltaire was again shut up in the Bastile, 
through attempting to revenge an insult inflicted upon 
9 



98 BIOGRAPHY OF 

him by a courtier. At the end of six months he was 
released, but ordered to quit Paris. He sought refuge 
in England, in 1726. He was the guest in that coun- 
try of a Mr. Falconer, of Wandsworth, whose hospital- 
ity he remembered with affection so long as life lasted. 
Voltaire was known to most of the w 7 its and Freethink- 
ers of that day in England. At this early age he was 
at war with Christianity. " His visit to England," says 
Lamartine, " gave assurance and gravity to his incre- 
dulity; for in France he had only known libertines — 
in England he knew philosophers." He went to visit • 
Congreve, w r ho had the affectation to tell him that he 
(Congreve) valued himself, not on his authorship, but 
as a man of the world. To which Voltaire administer- 
ed a just rebuke by saying, " 1 should never have come 
so far to see a gentleman ! " 

Voltaire soon acquired an ample fortune, much of 
which was expended in aiding men of letters, and in 
encouraging such youth as he thought discovered the 
seeds of genius. The use he made of riches might 
prevail on envy itself to pardon him their acquirement. 
His pen and his purse were ever at the service of the 
oppressed. Calas, an infirm old man, living at Tou- 
louse, was accused of having hung his son, to prevent 
his becoming a Catholic. The Catholic population be- 
came inflamed, and the young man was declared to 
be a martyr. The father was condemned to the tor- 
ture and the wheel, and died protesting his innocence. 
The family of Calas was ruined and disgraced. Vol- 
taire, assuring himself of the innocence of the old man, 
determined to obtain justice for the family. To this 
end he labored incessantly for three years. In all this 
time, he said, a smile did not escape him for which he 
did not reproach himself as for a crime. His efforts 
were successful. Nor was this the only cause in which # 
he was engaged on the side of the weak and the 
wronged against the powerful and the persecuting. 
His whole life, though maligned as an Infidel and a 
scoffer, was one long act of benevolence. On learning 
that a young niece of Corneille languished in a condi- 



VOLTAIRE. 



99 



tion unworthy of his name, Voltaire, in the most deli- 
cate manner, invited her to his house, and she there 
received an education suitable to the rank that her 
birth had marked for her in society. " It is the duty 
of a soldier, ;; he said u to succor the niece of his gene- 
ral." 

Voltaire lived for a time at the Court of Frederick 
the Great of Prussia, and for many years carried on a 
correspondence with that monarch. He quarrelled with 
the king, and left the court in a passion. An emissary 
was despatched to him to request an apology, who said 
he was to carry back to the king his answer verbatim. 
Voltaire told him that li the king might go to the dev- 
il ! " On being asked if that was the message he 
meant to be delivered'? i: Yes," he answered, " and 
add to it that 1 told you that you might go there with 
him." In his " Memoirs," he has drawn a most amus- 
ing picture of his Prussian Majesty. He also says, 
u Priests never entered the palace; and, in a word, 
Frederick lived without religion, without a council, 
and without a court." 

Wearied with his rambling and unsettled mode of 
living, Voltaire bought an estate at Ferney, in the Pays 
des Gex, where he spent the la'st twenty years of 
his life. He rebuilt the house, laid out gardens, kept 
a good table, and had crowds of visitors from all pans 
of Europe. Removed from whatever could excite mo- 
mentary or personal passion, he yielded to his zeal for 
the destruction of prejudice, which was the most pow- 
erful and active of all the sensations he felt. This 
peaceful life, seldom disturbed except by the threats 
of persecution rather than persecution itself, was adorn- 
ed by those acts of enlightened and bold benevolence, 
which, while they relieve the sufferings of certain in- 
dividuals, are of any service to the whole human race. 
He was known to Europe as the " Sage of Ferney." 
After an absence of more than twenty-seven years, he 
re-visited Paris in the beginning of 1778. He had just 
finished his play of il Irene," and was anxious to see 
it performed. His visit was an ovation. He had out* 



100 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



lived all his enemies. After having been the object 
of unrelenting persecution by the priests and corrupt 
courtiers of France for a period of more than fifty 
years, he yet lived to see the day when u all that was 
most eminent in station or most distinguished in tal- 
ents — all that most shone in society, or most ruled in 
court, seemed to bend before him. ;? At this period 
he, for the first time, saw Benjamin Franklin. They 
embraced each other in the midst of public acclama- 
tions, and it was said to be Solon who embraced So- 
phocles. 

Voltaire did not survive his triumph long. His un- 
wearied activity induced him, at his great age, to 
commence a " Dictionary 77 upon a novel plan, which 
he prevailed upon the French Academy to take up. 
These labors brought on spitting of blood, followed by 
sleeplessness, to obviate which he took opium in con- 
siderable quantities. Condorcet says that the servant 
mistook one of the doses, which threw him into a state 
of lethargy, from which he never rallied. He linger- 
ed for some time, but at length expired on the 30th of 
May, 1778, in his eighty-fifth year. 

ft was the custom in those days, and prevails to a 
considerable extent even in our own time, for the re- 
ligious world to fabricate " horrible death-beds 77 of all 
Freethinkers. Voltaire's last moments were distorted 
by his enemies after the approved fashion; and not- 
withstanding the most unqualified denial on the part 
of Dr. Burard and others, whp were present at his 
death, there are many who believe these falsehoods at 
this moment. Voltaire died in peace, with the excep- 
tion of the petty annoyances to which he was subject- 
ed by the priests. The philosophers, too, who wished 
that no public stigma should be cast upon him by the 
refusal of Christian burial, persuaded him to undergo 
confession and absolution. This, to oblige his friends, 
he submitted to ; but when the cure one day drew 
him from his lethargy by shouting into his ear, £{ Do 
you believe the divinity of Jesus Christl 77 Voltaire 
exclaimed, 11 In the name of God, Sir, speak to me no 



VOLTAIRE. 



101 



more of that man, but let me die in peace! " This 
put to flight all doubts of the pious, and the certificate 
of burial was refused. But the prohibition of the Bish- 
op of Troves came too late. Voltaire was buried at the 
monastery of Scellieres, in Champagne, of which his 
nephew was abbot. Afterwards, during the first French 
Revolution, the body, at the request of the citizens, 
was removed to Paris, and buried in the Pantheon. 
Lamartine, in his " History of the Girondists/' 5 p. 149, 
speaking of the ceremony, says : — 

"On the 11th of July, the departmental and muni- 
cipal authorities went in state to the barrier of Charen- 
ton, to receive the mortal remains of Voltaire, which 
were placed on the ancient site of the Bastile, like a 
conqueror on his trophies; his coffin was exposed to 
public gaze, and a pedestal was formed for it of stones 
torn from the foundations of this ancient stronghold of 
tyranny ; and thus Voltaire when dead triumphed over 
those stones which had triumphed over and confined 
him when living. On one of the blocks was the in- 
scription, 'Receive on this spot, where despotism once fet- 
tered thee, the honors decreed to thee by thy country 7 

The coffin of Voltaire was deposited between those of 
Descartes and Mirabeau — the spot predestined for this 
intermediary genius between philosophy and policy, 
between the design and the execution. " 

The aim of Voltaire's life was the destruction of pre- 
judice and the establishment of Reason. "Deists," 
said W. J. Fox in 1819, " have done much for tolera- 
tion and religious liberty. It may be doubted if there 
be a country in Europe, where that cause has not been 
advanced by the writings of Voltaire." In the Preface 
and Conclusion to the " Examination of the Scrip- 
tures," Voltaire says : — 

" The ambition of domineering over the mind, is one 
of the strongest passions. A theologian, a missionary, 
or a partisan of any description, is always for conquer- 
ing like a prince, and there are many more sects than 
there are sovereigns in the world. To whose guidance 
9* \ , 



102 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



shall I submit my mind ! Must T be a Christian, be- 
cause I happened to be born in London, or in Madrid ! 
Must I be a Mussulman, because I was born in Tur- 
key? As it is myself alone that I ought to consult, the 
choice of a religion is my greatest interest. One man 
adores God by Mahomet, another by the Grand Lama, 
and another by the Pope. Weak and foolish men ! 

adore God by your own reason I have learnt that a 

French Vicar, of the name of John Meslier, who died 
a short time since, prayed on his death-bed that God 
would forgive him for having taught Christianity. [ 
have seen a Vicar in Dorsetshire relinquish a living of 
£200 a-year, and confess to his parishioners that his 
conscience would not permit him to preach the shock- 
ing absurdities of the Christians. But neither the will 
nor the testament of John Meslier, nor the declaration 
of this worthy Vicar, are what I consider decisive 
proofs. Uriel Acosta, a Jew, publicly renounced the 
Old Testament in Amsterdam ; however, I pay no more 
attention to the Jew Acosta than to Parson Meslier. I 
will read the arguments on both sides of the trial, with 
careful attention, not suffering the lawyers to tamper 
with me • but will weigh, before God, the reasons of 
both parties, and decide according to my conscience. 
I commence by being my own instructor I con- 
clude, that every sensible man, every honest man, 
ought to hold Christianity in abhorrence. 1 The great 
name of Theist, which we can never sufficiently re- 
vere,' is the only name we ought to adopt. The only 
gospel we should read is the grand book of nature, 
written with God's own hand, and stamped with his 
own seal. The only religion we ought to profess is, 
s to adore God, and act like honest men.' It would 
be as impossible for this simple and eternal religion to 
produce evil, as it would be impossible for Christian 

fanaticism not to produce it But what shall we 

substitute in its place] say you. What? A ferocious 
animal has sucked the blood of my relatives. I tell 
you to rid yourselves of this beast, and you ask me 
what you shall put in its place ! Is it you that put this 



VOLTAIRE. 



103 



question to me? Then you are a hundred times more 
odious than the Pagan Pontiffs, who permitted them- 
selves to enjoy tranquillity among their ceremonies 
and sacrifices, who did not attempt to enslave the 
mind by dogmas, who never disputed the powers of 
the magistrates, and who introduced no discord among 
mankind. You have the face to ask what you must 
substitute in the place of your fables ! y ' 

As will be seen by his exclamation on his death-bed, 
Voltaire was no believer in the divinity of Christ. He 
disbelieved the Bible in toto. The accounts of the 
doings of the Jewish kings, as represented in the Old 
Testament, he has unsparingly ridiculed in the drama 
of u Saul. j; The quiet irony of the following will be 
easily appreciated :• — 

Divinity or Jesus. — The Socinians, who are regard- 
ed as blasphemers, do not recognize the divinity of 
Jesus Christ. They dare to pretend, with the philoso- 
phers of antiquity, with the Jews, the Mahometans, 
and most other nations, that the idea of a god-man is 
monstrous; that the distance from God to man is infi- 
nite ) and that it is impossible for a perishable body to 
be infinite, immense, or eternal. They have the con- 
fidence to quote Eusebius, Bishop of Caesarea, in their 
favor, who, in his " Ecclesiastical History," book i., 
chap. 9, declares that it is absurd to imagine the un- 
created and unchangeable nature of Almighty God tak- 
ing the form of a man. They cite the fathers of the 
church, Justin and Tertullian, who have said the same 
thing : Justin in his Diologue with Triphonius ; ?? and 
Tertullian, in his " Discourse against Praxeas." They 
quote St. Paul, who never calls Jesus Christ, God, and 
who calls him man very often. They carry their au- 
dacity so far as to affirm, that the Christians passed 
three entire ages in forming by degrees the apotheosis 
of Jesus; and that they only raised this astonishing 
edifice by the example of the Pagans, who had deified 
mortals. At first, according to them, Jesus was only 
regarded as a man inspired by God, and then as a 
creature more perfect than others. They gave him 



104 BIOGRAPHY OF 

some lime after, a place above the angels, as St. Paul 
tells us. Every day added to his greatness. He in 
time became an emanation, proceeding from God. 
This was not enough; he was even born before time- 
At last he was God consubstantial with God. Crellius, 
Voquelsius, Natalis, Alexander, and Hornbeck, have 
supported all these blasphemies by arguments, which 
astonish the wise and mislead the weak. Above all, 
Faustus Socinus spread the seeds of this doctrine in 
Europe; and at the end of the sixteenth century, a 
new species of Christianity was established. There 
were already more than three hundred. — [Philosophi- 
cal Dictionary, vol. i. p. 405. 

Though a firm and consistent believer in the bemi* 
of a God, Voltaire was no bigot. The calm reasoning 
of the following passage does honor to its author : — 

Faith. — Divine faith, about which so much has been 
written, is evidently nothing more than incredulity 
brought under subjection ; for we certainly have no 
other faculty than the understanding by which we can 
believe; and the objects of faith are not those of the 
understanding. We can believe only what appears to 
be true ; and nothing can appear true but in one of 
the three following ways — by intuition or feeling, as I 
exist, I see the sun ; or by an accumulation of proba- 
bility amounting to certainty, as there is a city called 
Constantinople; or by positive demonstration, as tri- 
angles of the same base and height are equal. Faith, 
therefore, being nothing at ail of this description, can 
no more be a belief, a persuasion, than it can be yel- 
low or red. It can be nothing but the annihilation of 
reason, a silence of adoration at the contemplation of 
things absolutely incomprehensible. Thus, speaking 
philosophically, no person believes the Trinity; no 
person believes that the same body can be in a thou- 
sand places at once ; and he who says, I believe these 
mysteries, will see, beyond the possibility of a doubt, 
if he reflects for a moment on what passes in his mind, 
that these words mean no more than., I respect thee, 
mysteries; I submit myself to those who announce 



VOLTAIRE. 



105 



thern. For they agree with me, that my reason, or 
their own reason, believe them not; but it is clear that 
it my reason is not persuaded, J am not persuaded. T 
and my reason cannot possibly be two different beings. 
It is an absolute contradiction that I should receive 
that as true which my understanding rejects as false. 
Faith, therefore, is nothing but submissive or deferen- 
tial incredulity. But why should this submission be 
exercised when my understanding invincibly recoils % 
The reason, we well know, is, that my understanding 
has been persuaded that the mysteries of my faith are 
laid down by God himself. All, then, that I can do, 
as a reasonable being, is to be silent and adore. That 
is what divines call external faith ; and this faith 
neither is, nor can be, anything more than respect 
for things incomprehensible, in consequence of the 
reliance I place on those who teach them. If God 
himself were to say to me, u Thought is of an olive 
colour ) 77 " the square of a certain number is bitter ; ' ? 
1 should certainly understand nothing at all from these 
words. I could not adopt them either as true or false. 
But I will repeat them, if he commands me to do it ; 
aud I wiil make others repeat them at the risk of my 
life. This is faith ; it is nothing more than obedience. 
In order to obtain a foundation then for this obedience, 
it is merely necessary to examine the books which 
require it. Our understanding, therefore, should inves- 
tigate the books of the Old and New Testament, just 
as it would PJutarch or Livy ; and if it finds in them 
incontestable and decisive evidences — evidences obvi- 
ous to all minds, and such as w T ould be admitted by 
men of all nations — that God himself is their author, 
then it is our incumbent duty to subject our under- 
standing to the yoke of faith. — [Ibid, p. 474. 

Prayer. — We know of no religion without prayers; 
even the Jews had them, although there was no public 
form of prayer among them before the time when they 
sang their canticles in their synagogues, which did not 
take place until a late period. The people of all 
nations, whether actuated by desires or fears, have 



106 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



invoked the assistance of the Divinity. Philosophers, 
however, more respectful to the Supreme Being, and 
rising more above human weakness, have been habit- 
uated to substitute, for prayer, resignation. This, in 
fact, is all that appears proper and suitable between 
creature and Creator. But philosophy is not adapted 
to the great mass of mankind ; it soars too highly above 
the vulgar ; it speaks a language they are unable to 
comprehend. To propose philosophy to them, would 
be just as weak as to propose the study of conic sec- 
tions to peasants or fish-women. Among philosophers 
themselves, I know of no one besides Maximus Tyrius 
who has treated of this subject. The following is the 
substance of his ideas upon it : — The designs of God 
exist from all eternity. If the object prayed for be 
conformable to his immutable will, it must be perfectly 
useless to request of him the very thing which he has 
determined to do. If he is prayed to for the reverse 
of what he has determined 10 do, he is prayed to be 
weak, fickle, and inconstant; such a prayer implies 
that this is thought to be his character, and is nothing 
better than ridicule or mockery of him. You either 
request of him what is just and right, in which case 
he ought to do it. and it will be actually done without 
any solicitation, which in fact, shows distrust of his 
rectitude; or what you request is unjust, and then you 
insult him. You are either worthy or unworthy of the 
favour you implore ; if worthy, he knows it better than 
you do yourself; if unworthy, you commit an additional 
crime in requesting that which you do not merit. In 
a word, we offer up prayers to God only because we 
have made him after our own image. We treat him 
like a pacha, or a sultan, who is capable of being 
exasperated and appeased. In short, all nations pray 
to God; the sage is resigned, and obeys him. Let us 
pray with the people, and let us be resigned to him 
with the sage. We have already spoken, of the public 
prayer of many nations, and of those of the Jews. — 
That people have had one from time immemorial, 
which deserves all our attention, fiom its resemblance 



VOLTAIRE. 



107 



to the prayer taught us by Jesus Christ himself. This 
Jewish prayer is called the Kadish, and begins with 
these words : — " Oh ! God ! let thy name be magnified 
and sanctified ; make thy kingdom to prevail ; let 
redemption flourish, and the Messiah come quickly ! ,? 
As this Kadish is recited in Chaldee, it has induced 
the belief, that it is as ancient as the captivity, and 
that it was at that period that the Jews began to hope 
for a Messiah, a Liberator, or Redeemer, whom they 
have since prayed for in the seasons of their calamines. 
— [Ibid, vol. ii., p. 350. 

Voltaire's contempt for the Bible led him to use the 
language of u holy writ " in the coarsest jokes ; though, 
perhaps, with such material, the jokes could not well 
be otherwise than coarse. The following letter he 
addressed to M. Baillon, Intendant of Lyons, on ac- 
count of a poor Jew taken up for uttering contraband 
goods. This kind of writing obtained for Voltaire the 
title of " scoffer : )J — 

" Blessings on the Old Testament, which gives me 
this opportunity of telling you, that amongst all those 
who adore the New, there is not one more devoted to 
your service than myself, a certain descendant of 
Jacob, a pedlar, as all these gentlemen are, whilst he 
is waiting for the Messiah, waits also for your protec- 
tion, which at present he has the most need of. Some 
honest men, of the first trade of St. Matthew, who 
gather together the Jews and Christians at the gates 
of your city, have seized something in the breeches 
pocket of an Israelitish page, belonging to the poor 
circumcised, who has the honour to tender you this 
billet, with all proper submission and humility. I beg 
leave to join my Amen to his at a venture. I but just 
saw you at Paris as Moses saw the Deity, and should 
be very happy in seeing you face to face. If the word 
face can any ways be applied to me, preserve some 
remembrance of your old eternal humble servant, who 
loves you with that chaste and tender affection, which 
the religious Solomon had for his three hundred Shu- 
nauntes. 77 



108 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



Voltaire's prodigious wit and sarcasm were so exu- 
berant, that he expended them upon all people and all 
subjects — even himself, when occasion admitted of it, 
In one of his letters, addressed to the Elector Palatine, 
Sept. 9, 1761, he gives this excuse for not attending 
at the court : — 

" I should really make an excellent figure amidst 
the rejoicings of your electoral highness. It was only, 
I think, in the Egypt of antiquity that skeletons were 
admitted to a place in their festivals. To say the truth, 
my lord, it is all over with me. I laugh indeed some- 
times; but am forced to acknowledge that pain is an 
evil. It is a comfort to me that your highness is well j 
but I am fitter for an extreme unction than a baptism. 
May the peace serve for an era to mark the prince's 
birth; and may his august father preserve his regard 
for, and accept the profound respects of his little Swiss, 
Voltaire." 

In politics, Voltaire was not very far advanced. He 
seems to have had no idea of a nation without a king. 
A monarch who should not commit any very flagrant 
acts of tyranny, was as much as he appeared to desire. 
He evidently did not foresee the great revolution that 
was so soon to burst forth in France, but that he mainly 
contributed by his writings to bring it about, there can 
be no doubt. His influence upon the men of his time, 
both in France and Europe, is ably depicted by such 
writers as Lamartine, Quinet, and Brougham. Vol- 
taire's was the one great mind of his day, whose 
thoughts engrossed the attention of all men. He was 
great by his learning, his genius, and his benevolence 
— and this man was the champion of Reason, the ene- 
my of superstition, and an* a Infidel." 

Quinet, in his lectures on the Romish Church, says : — 
" I watch, for forty yeais, the reign of one man who 
is in himself the spiritual director, not of his country, 
but of his age. From the corner of his chamber, he 
governs the kingdom of spirits ; intellects are every day 
regulated by his ; one word written by his hand travers- 



VOLTAIRE. 



109 



es Europe. Princes iove, and kings fear him ; they 
think they are not sure of their kingdom if he be not 
with them. WhoJe nations, on their side, adopt with- 
out discussion, and emulously repeat, every syllable 
that falls from his pen. Who exercises this incredible 
power, which had been nowhere seen since the middle 
ages ] Is he another Gregory VII. 1 Is he a Pope % — 
No — Voltaire.' 7 

We conclude our sketch with the eloquent words of 
Lamartine, who describes, in a few sentences, the in- 
estimable services rendered to Freethought and intel- 
lectual progression by the Sage of Ferney : — 

" If we judge of men by what they have done, then 
.Voltaire is incontestably the greatest writer of modern 
Europe. No one has caused, through the powerful 
influence of his genius alone, and the perseverance of 
his will, so great a commotion in the minds of men ; 
his pen aroused a world, and has shaken afar mightier 
empire than that of Charlemagne, the European em- 
pire of a theocracy. His genius was not force but light. 
Heaven had destined him not to destroy but to illumin- 
ate, and wherever he trod, light followed him, for Rea- 
son (which is light) had destined him to be first her 
poet, then her apostle, and lastly her idol." J. W. 
10 



BIOGRAPHY 

OF 

JOHN TOL AND . 



In the Augustan age of Freethought, no British 
writer achieved more renown, or performed greater 
services to Biblical criticism, than John Toland. His 
life would till a volume, while his works would stock 
a library. True to his convictions, he spoke like a 
man, and died as a hero. His books are strewn with 
classical illustrations, and deal so with abstract (and to 
us) uninteresting arguments, that we shall simply give 
a brief sketch of the life of this extraordinary man. 
He gave his thoughts to the scholars at the same time 
that Woolston addressed the people ) conjointly they 
revolutionized opinion in our favor. 

Toland was born on November 30, 1670, at London- 
derry, in Ireland. It is said his registered name was 
" James Junius, 7 ' another account says " Julius Caes- 
ar ; ' J bat we have been unable to find any authentic 
date for either supposition, and whatever his name 
was registered, we have indisputable evidence that he 
was always called John Toland. We have less proof 
as to his parentage ; some writers allege that he was 
the natural son of a Catholic priest; while others con- 
tend that he was born of a family once affluent, but at 
the time of his birth in very reduced circumstances. 
Whether this was the case or the reverse, young Tol- 
and received a liberal education. He was early taught 
the classics, studied in the Glasgow College ; and on 
leaving Glasgow he was presented with letters of credit 



112 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



from the city magistrates, highly flattering to him as a 
man and a scholar. He received the diploma of A.M. 
at Edinburgh, the day previous to the Battle of the 
Boyne. He linished his studies at the University of 
Leyden. 

The first work of importance which Toland publish- 
ed, was a u Life of John Milton, containing besides the 
History of his Works, several extraordinary Characters 
of Men and Books, Sects, Parties, and Opinions." This 
work being violently opposed, was speedily follow- 
ed by u Amyntor, 77 or a defence of Milton's life, con- 
taining — 1. A general apology for all writings of that 
kind. 2. A catalogue of books, attributed in the pnmi- 
tive times to Jesus Christ, his apostles, and other emi- 
nent persons, with several important remarks relating 
to the canon of Scripture. 3. A complete history of 
the Book, entitled " Icon Basilike, proving Dr. Gauden, 
and not King Charles I., to be the author of it, 77 etc. 
Those works established the fame of Toland, as well as 
formed the groundwork for persecution, which hunted I 
him even on his death-bed. In the year 1699 Toland 
collected, edited, and published, from the original 
MSS., the whole of the works of James Harrington, 
prefixed by a memoir of this extraordinary theorist. 
In his preface he says that he composed this work " in 
his beloved retirement at Cannon, near Bansted, in 
Surrey. 77 From this, along with other excerpts scatter- 
ed through his w T orks, we cannot but infer that at the 
outset of his career he possessed a moderate compe- 
tence of worldly wealth and social position. He says 
his idea was " to transmit to posterity the worthy 
memory of James Harrington, a bright ornament to 
useful learning, a hearty lover of his native country, 
and a generous benefactor to the whole world; a per- 
son who obscured the false lustre of our modern poli- 
ticians, ^nd equalled (if not exceeded) all the ancient 
legislators. 77 This to us is an interesting fact, for it 
shows the early unanimity which existed between the 
earlier reformers in politics and those of theology. The 
supervision of the 44 Oceana 77 by Toland, bears the 



JOHN TOLAND. 



113 



same inferential analogy, as if Mr. Holyoake were the 
biographer and publisher of the " New Moral World " 
and its author. In 1700, he published " Anglia Libera • 
or, the Limitation and Succession of the Crown of Eng- 
land, explained and Asserted," etc. This book is con- 
cluded by the following apothegm, assuring the peo- 
ple " that no king can ever be so good as one of their 
own making, as there is no title equal to their appro- 
bation, which is the only divine right of all magistra- 
cy, for the voice of the people is the voice of God." 
In 1702, Toland spent some time in Germany, publish- 
ing a series of Letters to a friend in Holland, entitled 
" Some Remarks on the King of Prussia's Country, on 
his Government, his Court, and his numerous Palaces." 
About this time appeared " The Art of Governing by 
Parties; 77 this was always a favorite subject of the old 
Freethinkers, and is still further elucidated by Boling- 
broke. 

In 1707 he published a 1ar°re treatise in English and 
Latin, as " A Philippic Oration, to incite the English 
against the French," a work I have never seen. We 
now return to an earlier date, and shall trace the use 
of his theological works. The first of note (1696) was 
" Christianity not Mysterious " — showing that there is 
nothing in the gospel contrary to reason, nor above it; 
and that no Christian doctrine can be properly called a 
mystery. As soon as this book was issued from the 
press, it was attacked with unmanly virulence. One 
man (Peter Brown) who was more disgustingly opposed 
to Toland than the rest, was made a bishop ; and by far 
the greatest majority amongst the Anglican clergy, who 
attacked him, were all rewarded by honors and prefer- 
ment. The author was accused of making himself a 
new Heresiarch ; that there was a tradition amongst 
the Irish that he was to be a second Cromwell, and 
that Toland himself boasted that before he was forty 
years old, he would be governor over a greater coun- 
try than Cromwell j and that he would be the head 
over a new religion before he was thirty. One of his 
opponents publicly stigmatises him as saying that he 
10* 



114 



.BIOGRAPHY OP 



(Toland) himself designed to be as great an impostoi 
as Mahomet, and more powerful than the Pope ; while 
the Puritans denounced him as a disguised Jesuit, and 
the Papists as a rancorous Nonconformist. To com- 
plete the comedy, the Irish Parliament condemned his 
book to be publicly burnt, some ecclesiastics loudly 
murmuring that the author should be burned with it; 
others, more moderate, were anxious that Toland should 
burn it himself, while at last they came to an unani- 
mous resolution to burn it in front of the threshhold of 
his door, so that when the author appeared, he would 
be obliged to step over the ashes of his own book, which 
was accordingly done amid the brutal cheers of an 
ignorant and infuriated populace. 

As a proof of the hiah esteem in which Toland was 
held by the few able and liberal men of the day. we 
extract the following account from the correspondence 
of John Locke and Mr. Molyneux.* The latter gen- 
tleman, writing to the former, says : — " I am told the 
author of 1 Christianity not Mysterious' is of this coun- 
try, and that his name is Toland, but he is a stranger 
in these parts, I believe. If he belongs to this king- 
dom, he has been a good while out of it, or I have not 
heard of any such remarkable man amongst us." In 
another letter, the same writer says : — " In my last 
to you, there was a passage relating to the author of 
' Christianit} r not Mysterious.' 1 did not then think 
he was so near me as within the bounds of this city ; 
but I find since that he has come over hither, and have 
had the favor of a visit from him. I now understand 
that he was born in this country, but that he has been 
a great while abroad, and his education was for some 
time under the great Le Clerc. But that for which I 
can never honor him too much, is his acquaintance 
and friendship to you, and the respect which upon all 
occasions he expresses for you. I propose a great deal 
of satisfaction in his conversation. I take him to be a 
candid Freethinker, and a good scholar. But there is 

* Locke's posthumous works. Edited by Die Maizeaus. 



joh;n toland. 



115 



a violent sort of spirit which reigns here, which begins 
already to show itself against him, and I believe will 
increase daily, for I find the clergy alarmed to a mighty 
degree against him. And last Sunday he had his wel- 
come to this city, by hearing himself harangued against 
out of the pulpit, by a prelate of this country. ' ; 

Mr. Locke, in return, says : — " For the man I wish 
very well, and could give you, if it needed, proofs that 
I do so. And therefore I desire you to be kind to him ; 
but I must leave it to your prudence in what way and 
how far. For it will be his fault alone, if he proves 
not a very valuable man, and have not you for his 
friend. ,; To this, Mr. Molyneux writes to Mr. Locke 
— " I look upon Mr. Toland as a very ingenuous man, 
and I should be very glad of any opportunity of doing 
him service, to which I think myself indispensably 
bound by your recommendation." Soon after this, Mr. 
Molyneux describes the treatment Toland underwent 
in Ireland. In another letter to Locke — " He has had 
his opposers here, as you will find by a book which I 
have sent to you. The author (Peter Brown) is my 
acquaintance, but two things I shall never forgive in 
his book : the one is the foul language and opprobri- 
ous names he gives Mr. Toland ; the other is upon 
several occasions, calling in the aid of the civil magis- 
trate, and delivering up Mr. Toland to secular punish- 
ment. This, indeed, is a killing argument, but some 
will be apt to say, that where the strength of his reason 
failed him, then he flies to the strength of his sword • 
and this reminds me of a business that was very sur- 
prising to many, the presentment of some pernicious 
books and their authors by the grand jury of Middle- 
sex. This is looked upon as a matter of dangerous 
consequence, to make our civil courts judges of re- 
ligious doctrines ; and no one knows upon a change of 
affairs whose turn it may be next to be condemned. 
But the example has been followed in this country, 
and Mr. Toland and his book have been presented 
here by a grand jury, not one of whom I am persuad- 
ed ever read one leaf in 1 Christianity not Mysterious. 1 



116 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



Let the Sorbonne forever now be silent; a learned 
grand jury, directed by as learned a judge, does the 
business much better. The Dissenters here were the 
chief promoters of this matter, but. when I asked one 
of them ^ What if a violent Church of England jury 
should present Mr. Baxter's books as pernicious, and 
condemn them to the flames by the common execu- 
tioner, 7 he was sensible of the error, and said he wish- 
ed it had never been done." Mr. Locke, in his reply, 
coincides with his friend, and says, " The Dissenters 
had best consider; but they are a sort of men which 
will always be the same." A remark which 150 years 
has not failed in its truthfulness. Mr. Molyneux con- 
cludes his remarks in reference to Toland, as follows : 
— " Mr. Toland is at length driven out of our kingdom ; 
the poor gentleman at last wanted a meal's meat, and 
the universal outcry of the clergy ran so strong against 
him, that none durst admit him to their tables. The 
little stock of money which he had w T as soon exhaust- 
ed, he fell to borrowing, and to complete his hardships, 
the Parliament fell on his book, voted it to be burnt by 
the common hangman, and ordered the author to be 
taken into custody by the Serjeant-at-Arms, and to be 
prosecuted by the Attorney General. Hereupon he is 
tied out of this kingdom, and none here know T s where 
he has directed his course." From this correspondence 
we glean the following facts : — 

1. That John Locke and Mr. Molyneux were favor- 
able to Freetbought. 

2. That (on Locke's authority) Toland possessed abili- 
ties of no common order. 

3. That Toland was unjustly persecuted, and he met 
with the sympathy of the Liberals. 

Toland, having received a foretaste of his country's 
vengeance, retired for two years to Germany, where 
he was welcomed by the first scholars of the age. 
Hearing that the House of Convocation, in London, 
was about to denounce two of his works as heretical 
( " Christianity not Mysterious/' and u Amyntory' ) he 



JOHN TOLAND. 



117 



Hastened to England, and published two letters to the 
Prolucutor, which were never laid before Convocation. 
He insisted that he should be heard in his own defence 
before sentence was passed on his works: but as usual 
this wish was denied him. A legal difficulty prevent- 
ed the bishops from prosecuting the works, and Toland 
gave the world a full account in his { ' Viudicius Libe- 
rius.*' The " Letters to Serena, " written in a bold, 
honest, unflinching manner, were the next performan- 
ces of Toland. The first letter is on " The Origin and 
Force of Prejudices. 5 * It is founded on a reflection of 
Cicero, that all prejudices spring from moral, and not 
physical sources, and while all admit the power of the 
senses to be infallible, all strive to corrupt the judg- 
ment, by false metaphor and unjust premises. Toland 
traces the progress of superstition from the hands of a 
midwife to those of a priest, and shows how the nurse, 
parent, schoolmaster, professor, philosopher, and poli- 
tician, all combine to warp the mind of man by falla- 
cies from his progress in childhood, at school, at col- 
lege, and in the world. How the child is blinded with 
an idea, and the man with a word. The second letter 
is " A History of the Soul's Immortality Among the 
Heathens.*" A lady had been reading Plato's " Phse- 
do,' ; and remarked as to how Cato could derive any 
consolation from the slippery and va^ue suppositions 
of that verbiant dialogue. Toland, therefore, for her 
edification, drew up a list of the specifications of the 
ancients on the subject, analysing (in its progress) the 
varying phases of the fables of the Elysiau fields, the 
Charons, the Styx, etc., deriving them all from the an- 
cient Egyptians. Toland thought the idea had arisen 
among the people, like our witches, ghosts, and fairy 
stories, and subsequently defended by the philoso- 
phers, who sought to rule their passions by finding: 
arguments for their superstitions, and thus the rise of 
their exoteric and esoteric doctrines were the first 
foundations of the belief in the immortality of the soul. 
The third letter is on " The Origin of Idolatry," or, as 
•t might rather be called, a history of the follies of 



118 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



mankind. He traces the causes, the origin, and the 
science of superstition — its phenomena and its devo- 
tees, proving that all the sacrifices, prayers, and cus- 
toms of idolatry are the same in all ages, they only 
differ in language and adaptability of climate, and that 
with the fall of judicial astrology, idolatry received its 
greatest blow, for while men thought that priests could 
control destiny, they feared them — but this idea de- 
stroyed, it removed the terror which so long had exist- 
ed as an immediate object betwixt the man and this 
sacerdotal tyrant. 

In letter fourth, addressed " To a Gentleman in Hol- 
land, showing Spinoza's System of Philosophy to be 
without any principle or foundation," and in the con- 
cluding article, Toland argues that u motion is essen- 
tial to matter, in answer to some remarks by a noble 
friend on the above." In the fifteenth section of this 
argument, Toland thus rebuts the allegation that were 
motion indissolubly connected with matter, there must 
be extension without surface for motion or matter to 
exert their respective powers upon. It is often used 
as an argument, that if a vase was filled with any 
commodity to the utmost extent, where would be the 
space for motion ? We know that in a kettle of water, 
if there is no outlet for the steam (which is the motion 
of the water,) the kettle will burst. Toland says, 
" ' You own most bodies are in actual motion, which 
can be no argument that they have been always so, or 
tiiat there are not others in actual repose.' I grant 
that such a consequence does not necessarily follow, 
though the thing may itself be true. But, however, it 
may not be amiss to consider how far this actual mo- 
tion reaches, and is allowed, before we come to treat 
of rest. Though the matter of the universe be every- 
where the same, yet according to its various modifica- 
tions it is conceived to be divided into numberless par- 
ticular systems, vortices or whirlpools of matter ; and 
these again are subdivided into other systems greater 
or less, which depend on one another, as every one on 
the whole, in their centres, textures, frame, and co- 



JOHN TOLAKD. 



119 



herence. Our sun is the centre of one of the larger 
systems, which contains a great many small ones with- 
in the sphere of its activity, as all the planets which 
move about it; and these are subdivided into lesser 
systems that depend on them, as his sattelites wait 
upon Jupiter, and the moon on the earth; the earth 
again is divided into the atmosphere, ground, water, 
and other principal parts ; these again into the vegeta- 
ble, animal, and mineral kingdoms. Now, as all these 
depend in a link on one another, so their matter is 
mutually resolved into each other, for earth, air, fire, 
and water are not only closely blended and united, but 
likewise inteichangeable, transformed in a perpetual 
revolution : earth becoming water, water air, air ether, 
and so back again in mixtures without end or number. 
The animals we destroy contribute to preserve us, till 
we are destroyed to preserve other things, and become 
parts of grass, or plants, or water, or air, or something 
else that helps to make other animals, and they one 
another, or other men, and these again into stone, or 
wood, or metals, or minerals, or animals again, or be- 
come parts of all these and of a great many other 
things, animals, or vegetables, daily consuming and 
devouring each other — so true it is that everything 
iives by the destruction of another. All the parts of 
the universe are in this constant motion of destroying 
and begetting.' of begetting and destroying, and the 
greater systems are acknowledged to have their cease- 
less movements as well as the smallest particles, the 
very central globes of the vortices revolving on their 
own axis, and every particle in the vortex gravitating 
towards the centre. Our bodies, however we may 
flatter ourselves, do not differ from those of other crea- 
tures, but like them receive increase or diminution by 
nutrition or evacuation, by accretion, transpiration, and 
other w^ays, giving some parts of ours to other bodies, 
and receiving again of theirs, not altogether the same 
yesterday as to-day, nor to continue the same to-mor- 
row, being alive in a perpetual flux like a river, and 
in the total dissolution of our system at death to be- 



120 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



come parts of a thousand other things at once, our 
bodies partly mixing with the dust and the water of 
the earth, partly exhaled and evaporated into the air, 
flying to so many different places ? mixing and incor- 
porating with numerous things. 

" No parts of matter are bound to any one figure or 
form, losing and changing their figures and forms con- 
tinually, that is being in perpetual motion, clipt, or 
worn, or ground to pieces, or dissolved by other parts, 
acquiring their figures, and these theirs, and so on in- 
cessailtly ; earth, air, fire, and water, iron, wood, and 
marble, plants and animals, being rarefied, condensed, 
liquified, congealed, dissolved, coagulated, or any other 
way resolved into one another. The whole face of the 
earth exhibits those mutations every moment to our 
eyes, nothing continuing one hour numerically the 
same ; and these changes being but several kinds of 
motion, are therefore the incontestable effects of uni- 
versal action. But the changes in the parts make no 
change in the universe; for it is manifest that the con- 
tinual alterations, successions, revolutions, and trans- 
mutations of matter, cause no accession or diminution 
therein, no more than any letter is added or lost in the 
alphabet by the endless combinations and transposi- 
tions thereof into so many different words and lan- 
guages, for a thing no sooner quits one form than it 
puts on another, leaving as it were the theatre in a 
certain dress, and appearing again in a new one, which 
produces a perpetual youthful ness and vigor, without 
any decay or decrepiiness of the world, as some have 
falsely imagined, contrary to reason and experience; 
the world, with all the parts and kinds thereof, con- 
tinuing at all times in the same condition. 

But the species still continue by 
propagation, notwithstanding the decay of the indi- 
viduals, and the death of our bodies is but matter 
going to be dressed in some new form ; the impres- 
sions may vary, but the wax continues still the same, 
and indeed death is in effect the very same thing w T ith 
our birth ; for as to die is only to cease to be what we 



JOHN TOLAND. 



121 



formerly were, so to be born is to begin to be some- 
thing which we were not before. Considering the 
numberless successive generations that have inhabited 
this globe, returning at death into the common mass 
of the same, mixing with all the other parts thereof, 
and to this, the incessant river-like flowing and trans- 
piration of matter every moment from the bodies of 
men while they live, as well as their daily nourish- 
ment, inspiration of air, and other additions of matter 
to their bulk \ it seems probable that there is no par- 
ticle of matter on the whole earth which has not been 
a part of man. Nor is this reasoning confined to our 
own species, but remains as true of every order of ani- 
mals or plants, or any other beings, since they have 
been all resolved into one another by ceaseless revo- 
lutions, so that nothing is more certain than that every 
material Thing is all Things, and that all Things are 
but manifestations of one." 

In his reply to Wotton, who attacks those lc Letters 
to Serena,' 7 Toland says they were addressed " to a 
lady, the most accomplished then in the world." The 
name of the lady will probably remain forever a mys- 
tery. 

In 1718, he published the celebrated work " Naza- 
renus, or Jewish, Gentile, and Mahometan Christiani- 
ty," which caused an immense sensation at the time 
it appeared, and led to his u Mangonentes " (1720.) a 
work singularly profound and effective. In the same 
year he gave the world " Teti'adymus," containing 
u Hodegus, or the Pillar, of Cloud and Fire," that 
guided the Israelites in the Wilderness, not miraculous, 
but a thing equally practiced by other nations ; and 
" Clidophorus, or of the Exoteric and Esoteric Philoso- 
phy • " and "Hypatia." There is a long preface to 
those books, " from under an elm in Bensbury (or 
Chebem's camp.) on the warren at the south end 
of Wimbledon Common (1720.") About this time 
" Pantheisticon " appeared, written as a caricature on 
Church Liturgies, which Archdeacon Hare denounced 
as " downright Atheism." 
11 



122 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



Along with the above, Toland wrote a multitude ot 
small pamphlets ; he translated the fables of JEsop, 
and published a poem, entitled " Clito,- ; which caused 
much excitement at the time; and, as it represented 
Toland's ideal character, we reprinted it in the Lon- 
don Investigator. His earlier political works were es- 
teemed so valuable in the defence of the Protestant 
succession, and advancing the interests of the Elector, 
subsequently King of England, that in one of his visits 
paid to that Court, he was presented by the Eiectress 
with miniature portraits of herself and family. 

The following is a catalogue of the works of Toland, 
which have never yet been published, and the works 
in which they are mentioned : — 

1. The History of Socrates (in the Life of Harring- 
ton.) 

2. Systems of Divinity Exploded. An Epistolary 
Dissertation. (Christianity not Mysterious.) 

3. The History of the Canon of the New Testament. 
(Nazarenus.) 

4. Republica Mosaica. (Nazarenus.) 

5. A Treatise Concerning Tradition. (Tetradymus.) 

There were several other works, part of them writ- 
ten, which passed into the hands of Lord Molesworth 
(we believe,) part of which were published (the " His- 
tory of the Druids 5? and also " Giordano Bruno ; ") but 
whether they exist at the present time or not, we are 
unable to say. 

There is also great difficulty in deciding as to the 
manner of Toland's life; of this, however, we are cer- 
tain, that he caused great opposition in his own day, 
and he was patronised by able man. He edited an 
edition of Lord Shaftesbury's Letters, and published a 
work of that noble Lord's surreptitiously; he mingled 
amongst the German Courts, and appeared on terms 
of equality with the elite of the philosophers and the 
aristocracy. The brief memoir prefaced to one of his 
works is an epistolary document addressed to a noble 
Lord. His acquaintance with Locke, Shaftesbury, Col- 



JOHN TOLAND. 



123 



lins, Molesworth, and Molyneux, must have proceed- 
ed from other causes than his genius, or why was 
Toland exalted when Mandevilie, Chubb, and the 
brave Woolston are never so much as alluded to'? We 
consider that there is a strong probability that he was 
wealthy — or at least possessed of a moderate compe- 
tence. His abilities were of a curious order. He teem- 
ed to be one of a school which rose about his time to 
advocate Freethought, but shackled by a dogma. His 
collegiate education gave him an early liking for the 
dead languages, and he carried out the notion of the 
ancients, that the exoteric or esoteric methods were 
still in force. From a careful perusal of the works of 
the " Fathers," and the contemporary books of the 
heathens, he fancied that all the superstitions in the 
world differed but in degree — that religion was but 
the organic cause of superstition, the arguments made 
for it by the philosophers to propitiate the vulgar. 
This idea (in the main) was agreed to by Woolston, 
although his violent " Discourses, /,? which were ad- 
dressed to the unearned, contained within them the 
germ of their intrinsic popularity. Yet even Wool- 
ston's works, notwiihstanding their bluff exterior, had 
something more within them than what the people 
could appreciate, or even the present race of Free- 
thinkers can always understand ; for underneath that 
unrivalled vein of sarcasm, there was in every in- 
stance an esoteric view, which comprehended the 
meaning by which the earlier Christians understood 
the gospels, and rendered them on the same scale as 
the works of the ancients. The renowned William 
Whiston was another who interpreted Scripture in a 
similar manner. All those writers would have been 
Swedenborgians if there had been no Freethought, 
while Whiston would have been an Atheist had there 
been no representative of that school. We do not con- 
sider Toland, then, as an absolute Deist. At that time, 
the age was not so far progressed as to admit a Biblical 
scholar into the extreme advanced list; and when a 
man has spent the whole of his childhood in a secta- 



124 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



rian family, and his youth and early manhood in a 

University, it is an impossibility to throw off at one 
struggle the whole of his pa-t ideas; he may be un- 
fettered in thought, and valiant in speech, still there 
is the encyclopaedia of years hanging upon him as a 
drag to that extreme development which he wishes, 
but cannot bring his passions to follow. Not thai we 
would by any means observe that Toland was com- 
paratively behind his age, but that even in his more 
daring works he still had a vague idea of Scripture 
being partly inspired, although overlaid with a mass 
of ecclesiastical verbiage. 

It also seems a mystery how the works of Woolston 
could be condemned, his person seized, while in the 
case of Toland we hear of nothing but his works being 
burnt. Why was Convocation so idle? Why make 
idle threats, and let their victim ramble at lar^e ^ 
Was it because the one had powerful friends and the 
other had none? or was it that in the earlier portion of 
the career of Toland, the invisible hand of Boiingbroke 
stayed the grasp of persecution I Or was Shaftesbury : s 
memory so esteemed, that his friend was untouched? 
Those particulars we cannot learn, but they will take 
rank with other parallel cases, as when the same gov- 
ernment prosecuted Paine, and gave Gibbon a sine- 
cure, or nearer our own times when a series of men 
were imprisoned for Atheism, and Sir William Moles 
worth published similar sentiments without hindrance. 

In the " History of the SouPs Immortality,' 7 Toland 
thus gives the explanation respecting the exoteric and 
esoteric doctrines of Pythagoras : — " Pythagoras him- 
self did not believe the transmigration which has made 
his name so famous to posterity; for in the internal or 
secret doctrine he meant no more than the eternal rev- 
olution of forms in matter, those ceaseless vicissitudes 
and alterations which turn everything into all things, 
and all things into anything; as vegetables and ani- 
mals become part of us, we become part of them, and 
both become parts of a thousand other things in the 
universe, each turning into water, water into air, etc., 



JOHN TOLAND. 



125 



and so back again in mixtures without end or number. 
But in the external or popular doctrine he imposed on 
the mob by an equivocal expression that they should 
become various kinds of beasts afier death, thereby to 

deter them the more effectually from wickedness 

Though the poets embellished their pieces with the 
opinion of the souPs immortality, yet a great number 
of them utterly rejected it- for Seneca was not single 
in saying : — 

* Naught's after death, and death itself is naught, 
Of a quick race, only the utmost goal ; 
Then may the saints lose all their hope of heaven, 
And sinners quit their racky fears of hell.' " 

We now dismiss John Toland from our view. He 
was one of the most honest, brave, truthful, and schol- 
astic of the old Deists. His memory will be borne on 
the wings of centuries, and if ever a true millennium 
does arise, the name of this sterling Freethinker will 
occupy one of the brightest niches in its Pantheon of 
Worthies. A. C. 

11* 



BIOGRAPHY 



OF 

COMPTE DE VOLNEY. 



CONSTANTINE FRANCIS ChASSEBOIUF, DE VoLNEY, WHS 

born on February 3rd, 1757, at Craon, in Anjou. His 
father, a distinguished advocate, not wishing his son 
to bear the name of Chasseb&uf, resolved that he should 
assume that of Boisgirais. With this name Constantine 
Francis was first known in the world, studying at the 
College of Ancenis and Angers. He afterwards com- 
menced his Oriental travels, changing his name to Vol- 
ney. At the age of seventeen, finding himself his own 
master, and possessed of £50 a-year, inherited from 
his mother, he went to Paris, in order to study the 
sciences, preferring the study of medicine and phy- 
siology, although giving great attention to history and 
the ancient languages. On inheriting a legacy of £240, 
he visted Egypt and Syria, starting on foot, a knapsack 
on his back, a gun on his shoulder, and his £240, in 
gold, concealed in a belt. When he arrived in Egypt, 
he shut himself up for eight months in a Coptic monas- 
tery, in order to learn Arabic \ after which he com- 
menced his travels through Egypt and Syria, returning 
to France after an absence of four years, and publish- 
ing his " Voyage en Egypte et en Syrie," which was 
acknowledged by the French army, on their conquer- 
ing Egypt, to be the only book " that had never de- 
ceived them." The French Government named him 
Director of Commerce and Agriculture in Corsica, but 
being elected a deputy of the tiers-etat of the Sene- 



128 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



chausse of Anjou, he resigned the government appoint- 
ment, hoiding the maxim, that a national deputy ou2ht 
not in any way to be a pensioner. He opposed ail se- 
cret deliberations, and wi ? hed to admit the constitu- 
ents and the citizens. He was made secretary on the 
23rd of November, 1790, and m the debates which 
arose upon the power of the king to determine peace 
and war, Volney proposed and carried the resolution 
that " The French nation renounces from this moment 
the undertaking any war tending to increase their ter- 
ritory. J/ * In 1792, he accompanied Pozzo di Borgo to 
Corsica, in compliance with invitations from many in- 
fluential inhabitants, who sought his information. In 
Corsica he became acquainted with Napoleon Buona- 
parte, who was then an artillery officer; and some 
years after, hearing that Buonaparte had obtained ihe 
command of the army of Italy. Volney exclaimed. u If 
circumstances favor him, we shall see the head of a 
Caesar upon the shoulders of an Alexander.'* When 
Volney returned to Paris, he published an " Account 
of the State of Corsica."' He was afterwards appointed 
Professor of History, attracting large audiences • but 
the Normal School being suppressed, he embarked for 
the United States of America, in 1795. He was re- 
ceived by Washington, who bestowed publicly on him 
marks of honor and friendship. In 1798, Volney re- 
turned to France, and gave up to his mother-in-law the 
property which he was entitled to from the death of 
his lather, which had just occurred. During his ab- 
sence, he had been chosen a member of the Institute. 
Buonaparte also, on Volney's return, tried to win his 
esteem and assistance, soliciting him as colleague in 
the consulship. But he refused the co-operation, as 
also the office of Minister of the Interior. 

Seldom do men rind so many inducements to " ac- 
cept office ?? as was offered to Volney : and seldom do 
men appear who are disinterested enough to reject the 
inducements then held cut to him. Although he re- 
fused to work with the ruling powers of that day, he 
never ceased to work for the people! He occupied 



VOLNEY. 



129 



himself till the last year of his life in giving to the 
world that literature which will never be forgotten. 

It would be impossible to notice ail the works writ- 
ten by such an indefatigable thinker as the "heretic" 
of our sketch. We ought to mention, however, that 
subsequently to his being made Peer of France, by 
Louis XVIII. • and when there existed an intention of 
crowning Louis, Volney published " The History of 
Samuel, the inventor of Rosal Coronations. This book 
represents Samuel as an impostor, Saul as the blind 
instrument of sacerdotal cunning, and David as an 
ambitious youth. In September, 179], Volney pre- 
sented to the Assembly "The Ruins, or Meditations 
on the Revolutions of Empires," a book which will 
immortalize him in the memory of Freethinkers. The 
originality of style, and the eloquence of expression, 
cannot fail to interest all who read it. We give the 
following extracts, from the above work, but as it con- 
tains so much that ought to be read, we must return 
to the subject in another number : — 

" Legislators, friends of evidence and of truth ! 

" That the subject of which we treat should be in- 
volved in so many clouds, is by no means astonishing, 
since, beside the difficulties that are peculiar to it, 
thought itself has, till this moment, ever had shackles 
imposed upon it, and free inquiry, by the intolerance 
of every religious system, been interdicted. But now 
that thought is unrestrained, and may develope all its 
powers, we will expose in the face of day, and submit 
to the common judgment of assembled nations, such 
rational truths as unprejudiced minds have by long 
and laborious study discovered : and this, not with the 
design of imposing them as a creed, but from a desire 
of provoking new lights, and obtaining better infor- 
mation, 

" Chiefs and instructors of the people ! you are not 
ignorant of the profound obscurity in which the nature, 
origin, and history of the dogmas you teach are en- 
veloped. Imposed by force and authority, inculcated 
by education, maintained by the influence of example, 



130 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



they were perpetuated from age to age, and habit and 
inattention strengthened their empire. But if man, 
enlightened by experience and reflection, summon to 
the bar of mature examination the prejudices of his 
infancy, he presently discovers a multitude of incon- 
gruities and contradictions, which awaken his sagaci- 
ty, and call forth the exertion of his reasoning powers. 

" At first, remarking the various and opposite creeds 
into which nations are divided, we are led boldly to 
reject the infallibility claimed by each ; and arming 
ourselves alternately with their reciprocal pretensions, 
to conceive that the senses and the understanding, 
emanating directly from God, are a law not less sa- 
cred, and a guide not less sure, than the indirect and 
contradictory codes of the prophets. 

" If we proceed to examine the texture of the codes 
themselves, we shall observe that their pretended di- 
vine laws, that is to say, laws immutable and eternal, 
have risen from the complexion of times, of places, 
and of persons; that these codes issue one from anoth- 
er in a kind of genealogical order, mutually borrowing 
a common and similar fund of ideas, which every in- 
stitutor modifies agreeably to his fancy. 

"If we ascend to the source of those ideas, we shall 
find that it is lost in the night of time, in the infancy 
of nations, in the very origin of the world, to which 
they claim alliance : and there, immersed in the ob- 
scurity of chaos, and the fabulous empire of tradition, 
they are attended with so many prodigies as to be 
seemingly inaccessible to the human understanding. 
But this prodigious state of things gives birth to a ray 
of reasoning, that resolves the difficulty; for if the 
miracles held out in systems of religion have actually 
existed ; if, for instance, metamorphoses, apparitions, 
and the conversations of one or more Gods, recorded 
in the sacred books of the Hindoos, the Hebrews, and 
the Parses, are indeed events in real history, it follows 
that nature in those times was perfectly unlike the 
nature that we are acquainted with now; that men of 
the present age are totally different from the men that 



VOLNEY. 



131 



formerly existed ; but, consequently, that we ought 
not to trouble our heads about them. 

" On the contrary, if those miraculous facts have 
had no real existence in the physical order of things, 
they must be regarded solely as productions of the 
human intellect : and the nature of man, at this day, 
capable of making the most fantastic combinations, 
explains the phenomenon of those monsters in history. 
The only difficulty is to ascertain how and for what 
purpose the imagination invented them. If we ex- 
amine with attention the subjects that are exhibited 
by them, if we analyze the ideas which they combine 
and associate, and weigh with accuracy all their con- 
comitant circumstances, we shall find a solution per- 
fectly conformable to the laws of nature. Those fabu- 
lous stories have a figurative sense different from their 
apparent one ] they are founded on simple and physical 
facts ; but these tacts being ill-conceived and errone- 
ously represented, have been disfigured and changed 
from their original nature by accidental causes depen- 
dent on the human mind, by the confusion of signs 
made use of in the representation of objects, by the 
equivocation of words, the defect of language, and the 
imperfection of writing. These Gods, for example, 
who act such singular parts in every system, are no 
other than the physical powers of nature 3 the elements, 
the winds, the meteors, the stars, all which have been 
personified by the necessary mechanism of language, 
and the manner in which objects are conceived by the 
understanding. Their life, their manners, their ac- 
tions, are only the operation of the same powers, and 
the whole of their pretended history no more than a 
description of their various phenomena, traced by the 
first naturalist that observed them, but taken in a 
contrary sense by the vulgar, who did not understand 
it, or by succeeding generations, who forgot it. In a 
word, all the theological dogmas respecting the origin 
of the world, the nature of God, the revelation of his 
laws, the manifestation of his person, are but recitals 
of astronomical facts, figu r itive and emblematical nar- 



132 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



ratives of the motion and influence of the heavenly 
bodies. The very idea itself of the divinity, which is 
at present so obscure, abstracted, and metaphysical, 
was in its origin merely a composite of the powers of 
the mateiial universe, considered sometimes analyti- 
cally, as they appear in their agents and their phe- 
nomena, and sometimes synthetically, as forming one 
whole, and exhibiting an harmonious revelation in all 
its parts. Thus the name of God has been bestowed 
sometimes upon the wind, upon fire, water, and the 
elements j sometimes upon the sun, the stars, the 
planets, and their influences; sometimes upon the 
universe at large, and tne matter of which the world 
is composed ; sometimes upon abstract and metaphysi- 
cal properties, such as space, duration, motion, and in- 
telligence; but in every instance, the idea of a Deity 
has not flowed from the miraculous revelation of an 
invisible world, but has been the natural result of 
human reflection, has followed the progress and un- 
dergone the changes of the successive improvement 
of intellect, and has had for its subject the visible uni- 
verse and its different agents. 

" It is then in vain that nations refer the origin of 
their religion to heavenly inspiration ; it is in vain that 
they pretend to describe a supernatural state of things 
as first in order of events ; the original barbarous state 
of mankind, attested by their own monuments, belies 
all their assertions. These assertions are still more 
victoriously refuted by considering tnis great principle, 
that man receives no ideas but through the medium of his 
senses: for from hence it appears that every svstem 
which ascribes human wisdom to any other source 
than experience and sensation, includes in it a ysteron 
proteron, and represents the last results of understand- 
ing as earliest in the order of time. If we examine 
the different religious systems which have been form- 
ed respecting the actions of the Gods, and the origin 
of the world, we shall discover at every turn an antici- 
pation in the order of narrating things, which could 
only be suggested by subsequent reflection. Reason, 



VOLNEY, 



133 



then, emboldened by these contradictions, hesitates 
not to reject whatever does not accord with the nature 
of things, and accepts nothing for historical truth that 
is not capable of being established by argument and 
ratiocination. Its ideas and suggestions are as fol- 
lows : — 

" Before any nation received from a neighbor nation 
dogmas already invented ] before one generation in- 
herited the ideas of anoiher, none of these complicated 
systems had existence. The first men, the children 
of nature, whose consciousness was anterior to experi- 
ence, and who brought no preconceived knowledge 
into the world with them, were born without any idea 
of those articles of faith which are the result of learned 
contention ; of those religious rites which had relation 
to arts and practices not yet in existence : of those 
precepts which suppose the passions already develop- 
ed ; of those laws which have reference to a language 
and a social order hereafter to be produced: of that 
God, whose attributes are abstractions of the know- 
ledge of nature, and the idea of whose conduct is 
suggested by the experience of a despotic govern- 
ment; in fine, of that soul and those spiritual ex- 
istences which are said not to be the object of the 
senses, but which, however, we must forever have 
remained unacquainted with, if our senses had not in- 
troduced them to us. Previously to arriving at these 
notions, an immense catalogue of existing facts must 
have been observed. Man, originally savage, must 
have learned fiom repeated trials the use of his organs. 
Successive generations must have invented and refin- 
ed upon the means of subsistence; and the under- 
standing, at liberty to disengage itself from the wants 
of nature, must have risen to the complicated art 
of comparing ideas, digesting reasonings, and seizing 
upon abstract similitudes. 

" Tt was not till after having surmounted those ob- 
stacles, and run a long career in the night of history, 
that man, reflecting on his state, began to perceive 
12 



134 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



his subjection to forces superior to his own and in- 
dependent of his will. The sun gave him light and 
warmth ; fire burned, thunder terrified, the winds buf- 
feted, water overwhelmed him ; all the various natural 
existences acted upon him in a manner not to be re- 
sisted. For a long time an automaton, he remained 
passive, without inquiring into the cause of this action; 
but the very moment he was desirous of accounting to 
himself for it, astonishment seized his mind ; and pass- 
ing from the surprise of a first thought to the reverie 
of curiosity, he formed a chain of reasoning. 

" At first, considering only the action of the ele- 
ments upon him, he inferred relatively to himself, an 
idea of weakness, of subjection, and relatively to them, 
an idea of power, of dominaiion ; and this idea was the 
primitive and fundamental type of all his conceptions 
of the divinity. 

" The action of the natural existences, in the second 
place, excited in him sensations of pleasure or pain, 
of good or evil; by virtue of his organization, he con- 
ceived love or aversion for them, he desired or dreaded 
their presence : and fear or hope was the principle of 
every idea of religion. 

" Afterwards, judging everything by comparison, and 
remarking in those beings a motion spontaneous like 
his own, he supposed there to be a will, an intelli- 
gence inherent in that motion, of a nature similar to 
what existed in himself; and hence, by way of infer- 
ence, he started a fresh argument. Having experienc- 
ed that certain modes of behavior towards his fellow- 
creatures wrought a change in their affections and 
governed their conduct, he applied those practices to 
the powerful beings of the universe. < When my fel- 
low-creature of superior strength, " said he to himself, 
' is disposed to injure me, f humble myself before him, 
and my prayer has the art of appeasing him. I will 
pray to the powerful beings that strike me. I will 
supplicate the faculties of the planets, the waters, and 
they will hear me. I will conjure them to avert the 



VOLNEY. 



135 



calamities, and to grant me the blessings which are at 
their disposal. My tears will move, my offerings pro- 
pitiate them, and I shall enjoy complete felicity. ; 

" And, simple in the infancy of his reason, man 
spoke to the sun and the moon ; he animated with his 
understanding and his passions the great agents of 
nature; he thought by vain sounds and useless prac- 
tices to change their inflexible laws. Fatal error ! 
He desired that the water should ascend, the moun- 
tains be removed, the stone mount in the air; and 
substituting a fantastic to a real world, he constituted 
for himself beings of opinion, to the terror of his mind 
and the torment of his race. 

" Thus the ideas of God and religion sprung, like all 
others, from physical objects, and were in the under- 
standing of man, the products of his sensations, his 
wants, the circumstances of his life, and the progres- 
sive state of his knowledge. 

" As these ideas had natural beings for their first 
models, it resulted from hence that the divinity was 
originally as various and manifold as the forms under 
which he seemed to act : each being was a power, a 
genius, and the first men found the universe crowded 
with innumerable Gods. 

" In like manner the ideas of the divinity having 
had for motors the affections of the human heart, they 
underwent an order of division calculated from the 
sensations of pain and pleasure, of love and hatred : 
the powers of nature, the Gods, the genii, were classed 
into benign and maleficent, into good and evil ones : 
and this constitutes the universality of these two ideas 
in every system of religion. 

" These ideas, analogous to the condition of their 
inventors, were for a long time confused and gross. 
Wandering in woods, beset with wants, destitute of 
resources, men in their savage state had no leisure to 
make comparisons and draw conclusions. Suffering 
more ills than they r tasted enjoyments, their most ha- 
bitual sentiment was fear, their theology terror, their 
worship was confined to certain modes of salutation, of 



136 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



offerings which they presented to beings whom they 
supposed to be ferocious and greedy like themselves. 
In their state of equality and independence, no one took 
upon him the office of mediator with Gods as insubor- 
dinate and poor as himself. No one having any super- 
fluity to dispose of, there existed no parasite under the 
name of priest, nor tribute under the name of victim, 
nor empire under the name of altar ; their dogmas and 
morality, jumbled together, were only self-preserva- 
tion ] and their religion, an arbitrary idea without in- 
fluence on the mutual relations existing between men, 
was but a vain homage paid to the visible powers of 
nature. 

" Such was the first and necessary origin of every 
idea of the divinity. 7? 

" In reality, when the vulgar heard others talk of a 
new heaven and another world, they gave a body to 
these fictions: they erected on it a solid stage and 
real scenes; and their notions of geography and as 
tronomy served to strengthen, if they did not give rise 
to the delusion. 

" On the one hand, the Phoenician navigators, those 
who passed the pillars of Hercules to fetch the pewter 
of Thule and the amber of the Baltic, related that at the 
extremity of the world, the boundaries of the ocean 
(the Mediterranean.) where the sun sets to the coun- 
tries of A^ia, there were Fortunate Islands, the abode 
of an everlasting spring; and at a farther distance, hy- 
perborean regions, placed under the earth (relatively 
to the tropics.) where reigned an eternal night. From 
those storie^, badly understood, and no doubt conf^ed- 
ly related, the imagination of the people composed the 
Elysian Fields, delightful spots in a world below, hav- 
ing their heaven, their sun, and their stars; and Tar- 
tarus, a place of darkness, humidity, mire, and chilling 
frost. Now, inasmuch as mankind, inquisitive about 
all that of which they are ignorant, and desirous of a 
protracted existence, had already exerted their facul- 
ties respecting what was .to become of them after 
death; inasmuch, as they had early reasoned upon 



VOLNET. 



337 



that principle of life which animates the bod)', and 
which quits it without changing the form of the body, 
and had conceived to themselves airy substances, phan- 
toms and shades, they loved to believe that they should 
resume in the subterranean world that life which it was 
so painful to lose; and this abode appeared commodi- 
ous for the reception of those beloved objects which 
they could not prevail on themselves to renounce. 

" On the other hand, the astrological and philosophi- 
cal priests told such stories of their heavens as per- 
fectly quadrated wiih these fictions. Having, in their 
metaphorical language, denominated the equinoxes 
and solstices the gates of heaven, or the entrance of 
the seasons, they explained the terrestrial phenomena 
by saying, that through the gate of horn (first the bull, 
afterwards the ram,) vivifying fires descended, which, 
in spring, gave life to vegetation, and aquatic spirits, 
which caused, at the solstice, the overflowing of the 
Nile: that through the gate of ivory (originally the 
bowman, or Sagittarius, then the balance,) and through 
that of Capricorn, or the urn, the emanations or influ- 
ences of the heavens returned to their source and re- 
ascended to their origin; and the Milky Way which 
passed through the doors of the solstices, seemed to 
them to have been placed there on purpose to be their 
road and vehicle. The celestial scene farther present- 
ed, according to their Atlas, a river (the Nile, desig- 
nated by the windings of the Hydra;) together with 
a barge (the vessel Argo,) and the dog Sirius, both 
bearing relation to that river, of which they foreboded 
the overflowing. These circumstances, added to the 
preceding ones, increased the probability of the fiction; 
and thus to arrive at Tartarus or Elysium, souls were 
obliged to cross the rivers Styx and Acheron, in the 
boat of Charon the ferryman, and to pass through the 
doors of horn and ivory, which were guarded by the 
mastiff Cerberus. At length a civil usage was joined 
to all these inventions, and gave them consistency. 

" The inhabitants of Egypt having remarked that the 
putrefaction of dead bodies became in their burning 
12# 



138 BIOGRAPHY OF . 

climate the source of pestilence and diseases, the cus- 
tom was introduced in a great number of States, of 
burying the dead at a distance from the inhabited dis- 
tricts, in the desert which lies at the West. To arrive 
there it was necessary to cross the canals of the river 
in a boat, and to pay a toll to the ferryman, otherwise 
the body remaining unburied, would have been left a 
piey to wild beasts. This custom suggested to her 
civil and religious legislators, a powerful means of af- 
fecting the manners of her inhabitants, and addressing 
savage and uncultivated men with the motives of filial 
piety and reverence for the dead j they introduced, as 
a necessary condition, the undergoing that previous 
trial which should decide whether the deceased de- 
served to be admitted upon the footing of his family 
honors into the black city. Such an idea too well ac- 
corded with the rest ot the business not to be incorpo- 
rated with it; it accordingly entered for an article into 
religious creeds, and hell had its Minos and its Rada- 
manthus, with the wand, the chair, the guards, and 
the urn, after the exact model of this civil transaction. 
The divinity then, for the first time, became a subject 
of moral and political consideration, a legislator, by so 
much the more formidable as, while his judgment was 
final and his decrees without appeal, he w T as unap- 
proachable to his subjects. This mythological and 
fabulous creation, composed as it was of scattered and 
discordant parts, then became a source of future pun- 
ishments and rewards, in which divine justice was 
supposed to correct the vices and errors of this transi- 
tory state. A spiritual and mystical system, such as 
I have mentioned, acquired so much the more credit 
as it applied itself to the mind by every argument 
suited to it. The oppressed looked thither for an in- 
demnification, and entertained the consoling hope of 
vengeance; the oppressor expected by the costliness 
of his offerings to secure to himself impunity, and at 
the same time employed this principle to inspire the 
vulgar with timidity ; kings and priests, the heads of 
the people, saw in it a new source of power, as they 



VOLNEY. 



139 



reserved to themselves the privilege of awarding the 
favors or the censure of the great Judge of all, accord- 
ing to the opinion they should inculcate of the odious- 
ness of crimes and the meritoriousness of virtue. 

u Thus, then, an invisible and imaginary world en- 
tered into competition with that which was real. Such, 
Persians ! was the origin of your renovated earth, 
your city of resurrection, placed under the equator, 
and distinguished from all other cities by this singu- 
lar attribute, that the bodies of its inhabitants cast no 
shade. Such, Jews and Christians ! disciples of the 
Persians, was the source of your New Jerusalem, your 
paradise and your heaven, modelled upon the astro- 
logical heaven of Hermes. Meanwhile, your hell, 
ye Musselmans ! a subterraneous pit surmounted by 
a bridge, your balance of souls and good works, your 
judgment pronounced by the angels Monkir and Nekir, 
derives its attributes from the mysterious ceremonies 
of the cave of Mithra ; and your heaven is exactly 
coincident with that of Osiris, Ormuzd, and Brama. 7; .... 

M It is evident, that it is not truth for which you con- 
tend ; that it is not her cause you are jealous of main- 
taining, but the cause of your own passions and preju- 
dices ; that it is not the object as it really exists that 
you wish to verify, but the object as it appears to you ; 
that it is not the evidence of the thing that you are 
anxious should prevail, but your personal opinion, your 
mode of seeing and judging. There is a power that 
you want to exercise, an interest that you want to 
maintain, a prerogative that you want to assume : in 
short, the whole is a struggle of vanity. And as every 
individual, when he compares himself with every other, 
finds himself to be his equal and fellow, he resists by 
a similar feeling of right; and from this right, which 
you all deny to each other, and from the inherent con- 
sciousness of your equality, spring your disputes, your 
combats, and your intolerance. 

" Now the only way of restoring unanimity is by re- 
turning to nature, and taking the order of things which 



140 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



she nas established for your director and guide , and 
this farther truth will then appear from your uniformi- 
ty of sentiment. 

" If we would arrive at uniformity of opinion, we 
must previously establish certainty, and verify the 
resemblance which our ideas have to their models. 
Now, this cannot be obtained, except so far as the 
objects of our inquiry can be referred to the testimony, 
and subjected to the examination of our senses. What- 
ever cannot be brought to this trial is beyond the 
limits of our understanding ; we have neither rule to 
try it by, nor measure by which to institute a compari- 
son, nor source of demonstration and knowledge con- 
cerning it. 

u Whence it is obvious that, in order to live in peace 
and harmony, we must consent not to pronounce upon 
such objects, nor annex to them importance; we must 
draw 7 a line of demarcation between such as can be 
verified and such as cannot, and separate, by an in- 
violable barrier, the world of fantastic beings from the 
world of realities : that is to say, all civil effect must 
be taken away from theological and religious opinions. 

" This, nations ! is the end that a great people, 
freed from their fetters and prejudices, have proposed 
to themselves ; this is the work in which, by theii 
command, and under their immediate auspices, we 
were engaged, when your kings and your priests came 

to interrupt our labors Kings and priests ! you may 

yet for awhile suspend the solemn publication of the 
laws of nature ; but it is no longer in your power to 
annihilate or to subvert them.' J 

We conclude with the following: — " Investigate the 
laws which nature, for our direction, has implanted in 
our breasts, and form from thence an authentic and 
immutable code. Nor let this code be calculated for 
one family, or one nation only, but for the whole with- 
out exception. Be the legislators of the human race, 
as ye are the interpreters of their common nature. 
Show us the line that separates the world of chimera* 



VOLNEY. 



141 



from that of realities; and teach us, after so many re- 
ligions of error and delusion, the religion of evidence 
and truth." 

Our space prohibits further quotation in this num- 
ber ; but when we return to the subject, we shall 
notice chapter xxi., u Problem of Religious Contradic- 
tions," and also "The Law of Nature; or Principles 
of Morality." Few men wrote more on various topics 
than Yolney ; and few have been more respected while 
living, and esteemed when dead, by ihose whose re- 
spect and esteem it is always an honor to possess. At 
the age of fifty-three, after much travel and great 
study, Volney consoled his latter days by marrying his 
cousin — the hope of 'his youth — Mdlle. de Chasseboeuf. 
A disorder of the bladder, contracted when traversing 
the Arabian deserts, caused his death at the age of 
sixty-three. He was buried in the cemetery of Pere 
Lachaise, when Laya, Director of the French Acade- 
my, pronounced a noble panegyric over his grave ; 
and months after his death he was spoken highly of 
by some of the most illustrious men of France. Thus 
ended the days of one of the Freethinkers of the past 
whose works, despite all suppression, will never die. 



4 



* 



BIOGRAPHY 

OF 

CHARLES BLOUNT. 



Look with me through the dark vista of 150 years of 
clouded history. Throw your mind across the bridge 
of time, for we are about to visit a tragic scene — a 
scene which might be depicted by a poet — so much of 
beauty, of truth, -and of goodness, all blasted by the 
perjuries of the priest. Yonder, in the dim library of 
an ancestral mansion, embowered amid the woods of 
the south, close by the gurgling waters which beat an 
echo to the stormy breezes — those breezes which will 
never more fan his cheek — that water where he has 
often bathed his limbs will be his rippling monument. 
The shady moonlight of an August evening is gilding 
the rich pastures of Hertfordshire ; the gorse bushes 
have not yet lost their beauty, the pheasants are play- 
ing in the woods — woods that so lately resounded with 
laughter — laughter ringing like a bell — the music of a 
merry heart. Withdraw those curtains which hide 
the heart-struck and the' dead. Above you is the ex- 
quisite picture of Eleanora, gazing into the very bed 
at that form which lay shrouded in nothingness. You 
see the broad manly brow — even now the brown hair 
rises in graceful curls over that damp forehead. The 
lips are locked in an eternal smile, as if to mock the 
closed eyes and the recumbent form. Is it true that 
pictures of those we love are endowed with a clairvoy- 
ant power of gazing at those who have caressed them 



144 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



in life] If it is, then on that August night the wife of 
Charles Blount was watching over his bier. 

But who is that pale form, with dishevelled hair and 
weeping eyes, with an alabaster skin stained with ihe 
blue spots of grief?- The rapid upheaving swells of 
thai fair bosom tell of affection withered, not by re- 
morse, but by superstition % See her how she nervous- 
ly grasps that dead man's hand, how she imprints 
kisses on his lips ! Her hair, which yesterday was 
glossy as the raven's, is now as bleached as the driven 
snow ; to-day she utters her plaintive cries, to-morrow 
she hastens to join her lover in the tomb. This is a 
sad history. It should be written with the juice of 
hemlock, as a warning to Genius of impatient love. 

While the fair girl watches by the couch of the sui- 
cide, while from the painted canvass Eleanora gleams 
on the living and the dead, while the clouds of night 
gather silently over that ancestral hall, around the 
drooping corn on the bold sloping park, and the clear 
blue river — all so quiet and gentle — let us gather up 
the events of the past, and learn the cause of a death 
so tragic, a grief so piercing. 

In the year 1672, at the age of nineteen years, a 
young man (the son of a baronet) led to the altar the 
lovely daughter of Sir Timothy T\ rrel. Flowers strew- 
ed the path of the wedded pair, and for years their life 
was one scene of bliss. At last, struck down by dis- 
ease, Charles Blount stood by the side of his dying 
wife — in his arms his Eleanora yielded her last sigh. 
He buried her by the willow-tree in the old church- 
yard. The lily blended with the white rose, and the 
myrtle overshadowed the grave. It was here where 
the widower rested in the evening — here where he 
taught his children the virtues of their dead mother. 
Sometimes he gazed at the azure skies, and strange 
fancies beguiled the mind of the mourner. When he 
saw the sun sink to the west, gilding the world with 
its glorious rays, he mused on the creeds of many 
lands. He fancied he saw a heaven and a God, and 
traced in the lines of light the patriarchal worshippers 



CHARLES BLOUNT. 



145 



of the world. He looked at the sun and its worship- 
pers — those who sought the origin of purity by wor- 
shipping that which is the origin of all good. He 
looked at the fables of Greece, and found delight in 
the thought of Sappho uttering her diapason of joy in 
lyrics which told of love and beauty ; at Egypt, where 
the priests, in their esoteric cunning, searched in vain 
for that which gives life, and motion, and joy • and 
then he glanced at the Christian heaven, but here all 
was dark — dark as the Plutonian caverns of Homer's 
hell. He wished to meet his Eleanora — not in Pagan 
dreams — not in Christian parables — but in the world of 
realities. He looked with eager eyes upon the world 
around him, in society, at Court, and in the homes of 
his country. But wherever he went, there was but 
one thought — one feeling. He wished a mother for 
his children — a mother like the sainted dead. There 
was but one who answered the ideal — like in features, 
in passion, and in beauty — to the lost Eleanora. Born 
of the same parents, loved by the same brother, edu- 
cated by the same teachers, imbued with the same 
thoughts, she was the model of her dead sister; with 
a sisterly love for her brother, she was already both 
mother and aunt to her sister's children. 

With deliberate thoughts, with convulsive passion, 
the love of Charles Blount passed the bounds of that of 
a brother ; longing to make her his wife, he adored 
her with the passion he had lavished on the dead. It 
seemed as if the shade of Eleanora was perpetually 
prompting him to bestow all his affection on the young 
and beautiful Eliza. She caressed his children with 
the pride of an aunt, she traced the image of her sister 
in the laughing eyes of the merry babes — still she was 
not happy. How could she be happy 1 She loved him 
as a man — as a brother. She was a Christian — he an 
Infidel. She was bound by creeds — he by conduct. 
She was doin^ the duty she owed to the dead. He 
sought to do it by uniting himself to the living. Eliza 
was anxious to marry, but there existed something 
which, to her mind, was greater than human duties, 
13 



I 

146 BIOGRAPHY OF 

and it often outraged ' them. God and the Church de- 
manded her first attention, and then her lover and his 
children. The Church, in cruel mockery of human 
rights, stepped between her judgment and her affec- 
tions. It denied the power of a woman to occupy the 
married home of her deceased sister. She was willing 
to pledge her love to Charles Blount at the altar, but 
the priest mocked her prayers and denounced her af- 
fections. The occasion was too good to be lost. Epis- 
copalism sought revenge on its opponent, and it tri- 
umphed. Eliza felt the force of Blount's arguments. 
She wandered with him through the green fields, but 
her sorrow was too great to pluck the wild roses. The 
luscious fruits of summer were passed untasted. A 
heart sick and in trouble, a mind wandering from her 
sister's grave to her children, and then at the an- 
athema of the Church, made her a widowed maid. To 
overcome her scruples, her lover wrote a book (invit- 
ing the clergy to refute it,) defending the marriage 
with a deceased wife's sister. But ever as he spoke 
there was a film before her eyes. There was a gaunt 
priest, with canonical robes, stood before the gates of 
heaven. Before him and through him was the way to 
an eternal happiness, below him was a fiery hell ; and 
he shouted with hoarse voice, Incest, incest, incest! — 
And ever as he shouted, he pointed with his finger of 
scorn at this Christian hell, and she conjured up in her 
mind the old stories of this priest, until she saw the 
livid flames rising up higher till they encircled her 
form, and then the priest screamed with fury, Anathe- 
ma mar anatha, incest, incest ! And in terror she stood, 
with the big drops of sweat dripping from her brow, 
with her heart beating, with her mind distracted, but 
her affections unclouded. 

This priest was the Church of England, and those 
fancies were driven into her imagination by her creed, 
her litanies, and her sermons. Eliza Tyrrel was mis- 
erable ; she was placed between her love, her duty, 
and her religion. If she had been a woman of a strong 
mind, she would have torn her creed jpto shreds, she 



CHARLES BLOUNT. 



147 



would have dared the anathema of the priest— the os- 
tracism of its dupes — and would have clung to the 
man she loved so truly, in defiance of that which was, 
at the best, but a faint possibility. 

The arguments in that pamphlet of Blount's were 
conclusive, but she distrusted reason. The plainest 
dictates of common logic were referred to the prompt- 
ings of the Devil. How could it be otherwise 1 Can 
the teachings of a lifetime be overthrown by the court- 
ship of a few months 1 Eliza Tyrrel, true to Blount, 
loved him; true to her religion, she durst not marry 
him without the sanction of the Church. So Blount, 
as a last resolve, laid the matter before the Lord's 
Vicegerent at Canterbury, and many of the most learn- 
ed divines of England ; and from those ecclesiastical 
leeches there was a Shylock cry of incest, incest, incest! 
And those terrible words came greeting the ears of 
Charles Blount, making his home like a charnel-house, 
and they nearly sent his beautiful Eliza to a maniac's 
yrave. Still she lingered on. Denied the power of a 
wife, she would not relinquish her duties as a mother 
to her sister's babes. There was a calm heroism here 
which few can imitate. The passions of Blount could 
not brook further insults. The last kick of bigotry 
against the broken-hearted Freethinker was given. He 
could no longer rise with the lark, and roam over the 
hills of his ancestral home. To him the birds, as they 
warbled, spoke of joys never to return. The broad 
river told him of the days when the little skiff floated 
on its waters with Eleanora; and even his friends only 
too bitterly reminded him of the tournaments of wit 
where Hobbes, Brown, and Gildon, jousted each other 
in the presence of his wife. His life was one scene ot 
misery. He saw no chance of amendment. In a fit 
of despair, he loaded his pistol with due deliberation, 
placed it to his head, and shot himself. He lingered 
for sometime, and then died on the breast of Eliza. 

This was a strange suicide. Blount's memory bears 
its weight of obloquy. It is hard to draw the line 
when and where a man has a right to take away his 



148 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



life. Common sense tells us that so long as our fami- 
lies are dependent upon us, we have no right to end 
our lives ; and if we have no dependents, no friends, 
then our country has a claim upon us. But, at the 
same time, the one sole end of existence is to be hap- 
py. If a man cannot find happiness in life, if there is 
a great coalition against him, he is justified in taking 
up arms against them ; but, at the same time, it proves 
a greater amount of courage " to bear up against the 
ills of life J7 than to madly leave it, and thus weaken 
the force of those who wish to stem its injustice. 

Charles Blount died, and with him expired much of 
the chivalry of Freelhought. His friend, Charles Gil- 
don, writing of him to a lady, says, " You know As- 
trea (Eliza,) and have an exact friendship with her. 
You can attest her beauty, wit, honor, virtue, good 
humor, and discretion. You have been acquainted 
with the charms of her conversation and conduct, and 
condemn her, only adhering to a national custom to 
the loss of so generous a friend, and so faithful a lover. 
But custom and obedience meeting the more easily, 
betrayed her virtue into a crime. I know my friend 
loved her to his last breath; and I krfow, therefore, 
that all who love his memory must, for her sake, love 
and value her, as being a lady of that merit, that en- 
gaged the reason of Philander (C. Blount) to so violent 
a passion for her." 

The same writer says, " His father was Sir Henry 
Blount, the Socrates of the age, for his aversions to 
the reigning sophisms and hypocrisies, eminent in all 
capacities : the best husband, father, and master, ex- 
tremely agreeably in conversation, and just in all his 
dealings. From such a father our hero derived him 
self; to such a master owed his generous education, 
unmixed with the nauseous methods and profane opin- 
ions of the schools. Nature gave him parts capable 
of the noblest sciences, and his industrious studies 
bore a proportion to his capacities. He was a gener- 
ous and constant friend, an indulgent parent, and a 
kind master. His temper was open and free ; his con- 



CHARLES BLOUNT. 



149 



versation pleasant; his reflections just and modest; his 
repartees close — not scurrilous; he had a great deal 
of wit, and no malice. His mind was large and noble 
— above the little designs of most men ; an enemy to 
dissimulation, and never feared to own his thoughts. 
He was a true Englishman, and lover of the liberties 
of his country, and declared it in the worst of times. 
He was an enemy to nothing but error, and none were 
his enemies that knew him. but those who sacrificed 
more to mammon than reason." 

This was the man who died, because a dominant 
priesthood insisted on a dogma which interfered with 
a purely Secular rite, which blasted two hearts in a 
vain attempt to perpetuate a system, which dashes its 
rude fingers, and tears out the heart of human felicity 
to sprinkle the altar of superstition with the gore of 
offended innocence. Charles Blount was a Deist ; as 
such, he believed in a God, which he described in 
his account of a Deist's religion. Let us examine his 
thoughts, and see if they bear the interpretation which 
Christianity has always placed upon them. Blount 
gives the Deist's opinion of God. He says, " What- 
ever is adorable, amiable, and imitable by mankind, 
is in one Supreme, perfect Being." An Atheist can- 
not object to this. He speaks in the manner in which 
God is to be worshipped. He says, not by sacrifice, 
or by a Mediator, but by a steady adherence to all 
that is great and good and imitable in nature. This 
is the brief religious creed of Charles Blount. He 
never seeks to find out fabled attributes of Deity. He 
knows what is of value to mankind, and sedulously 
practices whatever is beneficial to society. 

In his " Anima Mundi, or, History of the Opinions 
of the Heathens on the Immortality of the Soul," (p. 
97,) Blount says : — 

u The heathen philosophers were much divided con- 
cerning the soul's future state ; some held it mortal, 
others immortal Of those who held the mortality of 
the soul, the Epicureans were the chief sect, who, 
notwithstanding their doctrines, led virtuous lives." 
13* 



150 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



Cardan had so great a value for their moral actions, 
that he appeared in justification of them. It appears 
(says he) " by the writings of Cicero, Diogenes, and 
Laertius, that the Epicureans did more religiously ob- 
serve laws, piety, and fidelity among men than either 
the Stoics or the Platonists; and I suppose the cause 
thereof was, that a man is either good or evil by cus- 
tom, but none confideth in those that do not possess 
sanctity of life. Wherefore they were compelled to 
use greater fidelity, thereby the better to justify their 
profession, from which reason it likewise proceeds, that 
at this day few do equal the fidelity of usurers, not- 
withstanding they are most base in the rest of their 
life. Also among the Jews, whilst the Pharisees, that 
confessed the resurrection and the immortality of the 
soul, frequently persecuted Christ, the Sadducee>, who 
denied the resurrection, angels, and spirits, meddled 
not with him above once or twice, and that very gently. 
Thus, if you compare the lives of Pliny and Seneca 
(not their writings,) you shall find Pliny, with his mor- 
tality of the soul, did as far exceed Seneca in honesty 
of manners, as Seneca excels him in religious dis- 
course. The Epicureans observed honesty above oth- 
ers, and in their conversation were usually found in- 
offensive and virtuous, and for that reason were often 
employed by the Romans when they could persuade 
them to accept of great employs, for their fault was 
not any want of ability or honesty, but their general 
desire of leading a private life of ease, and free from 
trouble, although inglorious. For when immortality 
is not owned, there can be no ambition of posthumous 
glory. 

" The Epicureans, instead of those bloody scenes of 
gallantry (which tyrants applaud,) undertook to man- 
age carefully the inheritance of orphans; bringing up, 
at their own charge, the children of their deceased 
friends, and were counted good men, unless it were in 
front of religious worship; for they constantly affirmed 
that there were no Gods, or, at least, such as concern- 
ed themselves with human affairs 3 according to the 



CHARLES BLOUNT. 



151 



poets. Neither doth the hope of immortality conduce 
to fortitude, as some vainly suggest, for Brutus was 
not more valiant than Cassius ; and if we will confess 
the truth, the deeds of Brutus were more cruel than 
those of Cassius ; for he used the Rhodians, who were 
his enemies, far more kindly than Brutus did those 
amicable cities which he governed. In a word, though 
they both had a hand in Caesar's murder, yet Brutus 
was the only parricide. So that the Stoics, which 
believed a Providence, lived as if there were none ; 
whereas the Epicureans, who denied it, lived as if 

there were The next sect to the Epicureans, in 

point of incredulity, concerning the soul, 1 conceive 
to be the Sceptics, who were by some esteemed, not 
only the modestest, but the most perspicuous of all 
sects. They neither affirmed nor denied anything, 
but doubted of all things. They thought all our know- 
ledge seemed rather like truth, than to be really true, 
and that for such like reasons as these : — 

" 1. They denied any knowledge of the Divine Na- 
ture, because, they say, to know adequately is to com- 
prehend, and to comprehend is to contain, and the 
thing contained must be less than that which contains 
it; to know inadequately is not to know. 

" 2. From the uncertainty of our senses, as. for in- 
stance, our eyes represent things at a distance to be 
less than they really are. A straight stick in the 
water appears crooked ; the moon to be no bigger than 
a cheese • the sun greater at rising and setting than 
at noon. The shore seems to move, and the ship to 
stand still ; square things to be round at a distance ; 
an erect pillar to be less at the top. Neither (say 
they) do we know whether objects are really as our 
eyes represent them to us, for the same thing which 
seems white to us seems yellow to a jaundiced man, 
and red to a creature afflicted with red eyes * also, if 
a man rubs his eyes, the figure which he beholds 
seems long or narrow, and therefore it is not improba- 
ble that goats, cats, and other creatures, which have 
long pupils of the eye, may think those things long 



152 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



which we call round, for as glasses represent the ob- 
ject variously, according to their shape, so it may be 
with our eyes. And so the sense of hearing deceives. 
Thus, the echo of a trumpet, sounded in a valley, 
makes the sound seem before us, when it is behind us. 
Besides, how can we think that an ear. which has a 
narrow passage, can receive the same sound with that 
which has a wide one ? Or the ear. whose inside is 
full of hair, to hear the same with a smooth ear ! E.v- 
perience tells us that if we stop, or half stop, our ears, 
the sound cometh different as when the ears are open. 
Nor is the smelling, taste, or touch less subject to mis- 
take : for the same scents please some, and displease 
others, and so in our tastes. To a rough and dry 
tongue that very thing seems bitter (as in an a^ue.) 
which to the most moist tongue seems otherwise, and 
so is it in other creatures. The like is true of the 
touch, for it were absurd to think that those creaiures 
which are covered with shells, scales, or hairs, should 
have the same sense in touching with those that are 
smooth. Thus one and the same object is diversely 
judged of. according to the various qualities of the in- 
struments of sense, which convinceth to the imagi- 
nation : from all which the Sceptic concluded, that 
what these things are in their own nature, whether 
red, white, bitter, or sweet, he cannot tell : tor. says 
he, why should I prefer my own conceit in arnrming 
the nature of things to be thus, or thus, because it 
seemeth so to me — when other living creatures, per- 
haps, think it is otherwise ? But the greatest fallacy 
is in the operation of our inward senses : for the fancv 
is sometimes persuaded that it hears and sees what it 
does not, and our reasoning is so weak, that in many 
disciplines scarce one demonstration is found, though 
this alone produces science. Wherefore it was Demo- 
critus : s opinion that truth is hid in a well, that she may 
not be found by men. Now, although this doctrine 
be very inconsistent with Christianity, yet f could wish 
Adam had been of this persuasion, for then he would 
not have mortgaged his posterity for the purchase of a 



CHARLES BLOUNT. 



153 



twilight knowledge. Now, from these sinister obser- 
vations it was that they esteemed all our sciences to 
be but conjectures, and our knowledge but opinion. 
Whereupon, doubting the sufficiency of human reason, 
they would not venture to affirm or deny anything of 
the soul's future state ; but civilly and quietly gave 
way to the doctrines and ordinances under which they 
lived, without raising or espousing any new opinions.' 7 
Speaking of the " origin of the world, 77 Gildon gives 
the following as a translation from Ocellus Lucanas : — 
" Again (says he,) as the frame of the world has been 
always, so it is necessary that its parts should likewise 
always have existed; by parts, I mean the heaven, 
earth, and that which lieth betwixt — viz., the sky; 
for not without these, but with these, and of these, the 
world consists. Also, if the parts exist, it is necessary 
that the things which are within them should also co- 
exist; as with the heavens, the sun, moon, fixed stars, 
and planets; with the earth, animals, plants, minerals, 
gold, and silver; with the air, exhalations, winds, and 
alterations of weather, sometimes heat and sometimes 
cold, for with the world all those things do, and ever 
have existed, as parts thereof. Nor hath man had any 
original production from the earth, or elsewhere, as 
some believe, but have always been, as now he is. co- 
existent with the world, whereof he is a part. Now, 
corruptions and violent alterations are made according, 
to the parts of the earth, by winds and waters im- 
prisoned in the bowels thereof; but a universal cor- 
ruption of the earth never hath been, nor ever shall 
be. Yet these alterations have given occasion for the 
invention of many lies and fables. And thus are we 
to understand them that derive the original of the 
Greek history from Inachus, the Argive ; not that he 
really was the original, as some make him, but be- 
cause a most memorable alteration did then happen, 
and some were so unskilful as to attribute it to Ina- 
chus But for the universe, and all the parts 

whereof it subsists, as it is at present, so it ever was, 
and ever shall be; one nature perpetually moving, and 



154 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



another perpetually suffering, one always governing 
and the other always being governed. The course 
which nature takes in governing the world, is by one 
contrary prevailing over another, as thus : — The moist- 
ure in the air prevaileth over the dryness of the fire ; 
and the coldness of the water over the heat of the air, 
and the dryness of the earth over the moisture of the 
water; and so the moisture of the water over the dry- 
ness of the earth; and the heat in the air over the 
coldness of the water; and the dryness in the fire 
over the moisture of the air. And thus the alterations 

are made and produced, out of one another As 

nature cannot create by making something out of 
nothing, so neither can it annihilate, by turning some- 
thing into nothing; whence it consequently follows, 
as there is no access, so there is no diminution in the 
universe, no more than in the alphabet, by the infinite 
combination and transposition of letters, or in the wax 
by the alteration of the seal stamped upon it. Now, 
as for the forms of natural bodies, no sooner doth any 
one abandon the matter he occupied, but another in- 
stantly steps into the place thereof; no sooner hath 
one acted his part and is retired, but another comes 
presently forth upon the stage, though it may be in a 
different shape, and so act a different part; so that no 
portion of the matter is, or at any time can be, alto- 
gether void and empty, but like Proteus, it burns itself 
into a thousand shapes, and is always supplied with 
one form or another, there being in nature nothing but 
circulation." 

The following are the principal works of Blount: — 
u Atiima Mundi; or, an Historical Narration of the 
Opinions of the Ancients concerning Man's Soul after 
this Life, according to Enlightened Nature ; " publish- 
ed in 1679. Upwards of twenty answers were publish- 
ed to this work. In 1680 he published a translation, 
with notes, of the life of Apolloninis, of Tyana. This 
work was suppressed. During the same year, he gave 
the world " Great is Diana of the Ephesians; or, the 
Original of Idolatry." By able critics this is consider- 



CHARLES BLOUNT. 



155 



ed one of his ablest works. In 1683, i: Religio Laici " 
appeared, which is published hum a Latin work of 
Lord Herbert's. In 1688 he wrote A Vindication of 
Learning, and of the Liberty of the Press.' 7 This trac- 
tate sparkles with wit and argument. But by far the 
most important work he was connected with, was pub- 
lished in the year he died, and mainly written by him- 
self, u The Oracles of Reason," a'favorite title with 
both American and English Freethinkers. It consists 
of sixteen sections; the most interesting being the 
first four, containing " A Vindication of Dr. Burnett's 
Archiologie." The seventh and eighth chapters (trans- 
lated) of the same, of " Moses's Description of the Orig- 
inal State of Man," and Dr. Burnett's " Appendix of 
the Brahmin's Religion." We would quote from these 
sections of the u Oracles," but intend to form separate 
" Half-Hours," with sketches of Drs. Brown and Bur- 
nett; it will be more appropriate to use Blount's trans- 
lation in describing those quaint, but highly instructive 
authors. In the general style of Blount's works, he is 
not seen to advantage ; there is too much heaviness, 
enhanced by the perpetual Gieek and Latin quota- 
tions; but as his works were intended for scholars, and 
the time in which they were written was essentially 
the most pedantic era of our literary history, we can- 
not expect that vivacity and clearness which other 
writers in a later age possessed. It was in his charac- 
ter as a man that Blount excelled — he was the leader 
of the chivalry of the period, as in the next age Wool- 
ston was his successor. At the Court he was the gay- 
est of the gay, without the taint of immorality, in a 
period of the grossest licentiousness ; he defended the 
nonor of his friends, frequently at the expense of calum- 
ny and danger. In witty repartees he was equal to 
Rochester ; while for abstruse learning he was superior 
to many of the most learned theologians. Daintily 
brave and skilfully alive to the requirements of friends 
and foes, he passed through life in the gilded barge of 
pleasure, and ended it sailing through a cloud where 
he foundered. But the darkness which enveloped his 



158 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



history is now charged with that sympathetic power 
which draws the young to his grave, and compels the 
gloomiest to shed a tear over his unhappy fate. 

At the close of August, in 1693, a few friends met 
near the grave of Blount, to join in their last respects 
to their lost friend. Foremost amongst them was 
Charies Gildon, who so soon repented of the part he 
had taken in the " Oracles of Reason," but never for- 
got the kindness he experienced from Blount. He 
lived long enough for Pope to be revenged on his 
apostacy, by inserting his name in his great satire. 
At the time we speak he was mournful and deeply 
grieved at the loss he had sustained; near him was 
Harvey Wilwood. whose bold demeanor and sorrowful 
countenance told of heart-struck grief, for of the few 
able to appreciate the genius of Blount, he was one 
of the earliest and most devoted in his friendship. 
Now we see the noble Lord, whom Blount always ad- 
dressed as " the most ingenious Strephon : n along with 
him there is the pretty Anne Rogers, with Savage, 
and Major Arkwright; we look in vain for Eliza Tyr- 
rel* they talk slowly over him that is no more; they 
recount to themselves the intellectual achievements, 
and the brilliant hours they have spent in the past; 
and while they speak so kindly, and think so deeply, 
they kneel on the hallowed spot, but not to pray ; 
some of them pledge their enmity against Chris'.ian 
laws and Christian priests, and they executed it. Dur- 
ing this time, the calm radiance ot the lunar light 
shines on the church of Ridge, illumining those ghost- 
ly tablets of white marble, where the forefathers of 
Blount lie entombed. The baronial arms are emblaz- 
oned on the wall j heraldic pomp is keeping watch 
over the mouldering bones of the now-levelled great. 
Anne Rogers weeps wildly for Eliza and Eleanora. 
Those metaphysical disquisitions which have exalted 
woman to so high a nature, that devotion to aesthetics 
which woman should always cultivate, not as a house- 
hold slave, but as one of equal rights with man, and 
his leader in everything which concerns taste, ele- 



CHARLES BLOUNT. 



157 



gance, and modesty; such gifts in no ordinary degree 
had Anne Rogers — and often in dialectic subtlety had 
she mastered her relative, who stood by her side, and 
given tokens of her admiration of Blount's philosophy 
and conduct. " Strephon " was passionately attached 
to his confidant and friend, and could not give so calm 
an expression to his loss. He wept wildly, for he had 
lost one who tempered his rebuke with a kind word, 
and pointed out that Epicurean path which leads to 
enjoyment without excess; to pleasure, without a re- 
action. It was a memorable meeting. While the re- 
membrance of past deeds of love lighted up the eye 
and made the blood course faster through their veins, 
Anne Rogers detailed the following episode in his char- 
acter .-—Blount had visited the Court of King James, 
and had been singled out by that monarch for one of 
his savage fits of spleen. " I hear, Mr. Blount, you 
are very tenacious of the opinions of Sir Henry, your 
father, and you consider his conduct during the Rebel- 
lion as worthy of imitation. Is it so?" u Your Ma- 
jesty," replies Blount, " has been correctly informed • I 
admire my father's conduct." " What! " says James, 
"in opposing his king]" Blount quickly answered, 
" A king, my liege, is the chief magistrate of the 
Commonwealth, and is so hereditarily while he obeys 
the laws of that Commonwealth, whose power he rep- 
resents; but when he usurps the direction of that 
power, he is king no longer, and such was the case 
with your royal father." With a scowl of defiance on 
his face, King James left the Freethinker, and sought 
more congenial company; and as Anne Rogers told 
the story, each eye was dimmed with tears. The 
moon had risen high in the heavens ere the mourners 
prepared to depart — the first streaks of dawn broke 
through the Eastern sky, and revealed the grave wa- 
tered with tears, where the most chivalrous Freethink- 
er of his age reposed, in that sleep which knows of no 
awakening. " A. C." 

14 



BIOGRAPHY 

OF 

PERCY MSSHE SHELLEY. 



Percy Bysshe Shelley (the son and heir of a weal- 
thy English baronet, Sir Timothy Shelley, of Castle 
Goring, in the county of Sussex) was born at Field 
Place, near Horsham, in that county, on the 4th of 
August, 1792. Ushered into the world in the midst of 
wealth and fashion, with all the advantages of family 
distinction, the future of Shelley's life appeared a bright 
one; but the sunshine of the morning only served to 
render the darkness which came over his noontide 
more dark, and to make poor Shelley still more sus- 
ceptible of the hardships he had to encounter. First 
educated at Eton, his spirit there manifested itself by 
an unflinching opposition to the fagging system, and 
by revolt against the severe discipline of the school; 
in his " Revolt of Islam 7; Shelley has thus portrayed 
his feeling : — 

" I do remember well the hour which burst 
My spirit's sleep ; a fresh May dawn it was 
When I walked forth upon the glittering grass 
And wept, I knew not why : until there rose 
From the near school-room voices that, alas ! 
Were but one echo from a world of woes, 
The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes. 

And then I clasped my hands and looked around, 
And none was near to mock my streaming eyes, 
Which poured their warm drops on the sunny ground ; 



160 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



So, without shame, I spake — 1 1 will be wise, 

And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies 
Such power, for I grow weary to behold 
The selfish, and' the strong still tyrannize 
Without reproach or check.' ;; 

&nd from that hour did I, with earnest thought, 
Heap knowledge from forbidden mines of lore; 
Yet nothing that my tyrants knew or taught 
1 cared to learn, but from that secret store 
Wrought linked armour for my soul, before 
It might walk forth to war among mankind. ,} 

From Eton, Shelley went to Oxford, and while there 
he, scarce at the age of eighteen, published a volume 
of political rhymes, entitled " Margaret Nicholson'! 
Remains," the said Margaret being a woman who tried 
to assassinate George III. He also wrote a pamphlefl 
in defence of Atheism. A copy of this pamphlet he 
caused to be sent to the head of each of the colleger 
in Oxford, with a challenge to discuss and answer.—' 
The answer to this was the edict which expelled She 1 - 
ley from Oxford, and at the same time placed a wide 
chasm between him and his family. This breach was 
still further widened in the following year by his mar- 
riage, at the age of nineteen, with a beautiful girl 
named Westbrook. Although Miss Westbrook was re- 
spectfully connected. Shelley's aristocratic family re- 
garded this as a mesalliance, and withdrew his pecuniary 
allowance ] and had it not been for the bride's father, 
who allowed the young couple £200 a year, they would 
have been reduced to actual poverty. This was an un- 
fortunate marriage for both. After having two chil- 
dren, disagreements arose, and Shelley was separated 
from his wife. She (like all* beautiful women) was 
soon attacked by the busy tongue of slander, and, un- 
able to bear the world's taunts, committed suicide by 
throwing herself into a pond, just four years from the 
date of their marriage. Shelley, on this account; suf- 



PERCY B. SHELLEY. 



161 



fered much misery and misrepresentation, and this 
misery was much increased by his family, who applied 
to the Court of Chancery, and obtained a decree, by 
which Shelley was deprived of the custody of his chil- 
dren, on the ground of his Atheism. The same spiiit 
even now pervades the Shelley family, and scarce a 
copy of his poems can be found in the neighborhood 
of his birth-place. Shelley afterwards contracted a 
second marriage with the daughter of Godwin, the au- 
thor of " Caleb Williams," and Mary Wollstonecroft 
(who died in giving birth to Shelley's wife), and for 
sometime the poet resided at Marlow, in Buckingham- 
shire, where he composed the " Revolt of Islam ; " and 
it is a strong proof of the reality of Shelley's poetical 
pleadings for the oppressed amongst the human race, 
that he was indefatigable in his attentions to the poor 
cottagers of his neighborhood ; and that he suffered se- 
verely from an attack of opthalmia, w T hich was origin- 
ated in one of his benevolent visits. .Nearly the first 
of Shelley's poems was his " Queen Mab,' 7 in which 
(having in vain struggled to devote himself to meta- 
physics apart from poetry), he blended his metaphysi- 
cal speculation with his poetical aspirations. The fol- 
lowing quotations are taken from that poem, in which 
his wonderful command of language is well shown : — 

u There's not one atom of yon earth 
But once was living man ; 
Nor the minutest drop of rain, 
That hangeth in its thinnest cloud, 

But flowed in human veins ; 

And from the burning plains 

Where Lybian monsters yell, 

From the most gloomy glens 

Of Greenland's sunless clime, 

To where the golden fields 

Of fertile England spread 

Their harvest to the day, 

Thou canst not find one spot 

Whereon no city stood. 

14# 



162 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



How strange is human pride ! 
I tell thee that those living things, 
To whom the fragile blade of grass, 

That springeth in the morn 

And perishes ere noon, 

Is an unbounded world ; 
I tell thee that those viewless beings, 
Whose mansion is the smallest particle 
Of the impassive atmosphere, 

Think, leel, and live, like man : 
That their affections and antipathies, 

Like his, produce the laws 

Ruling their mortal state ; 

And toe minutest throb, 
That through their frame diffuses 

The slightest, faintest motion, 

Is fixed and indispensable 

As the majestic laws 

That rule yon rolling orbs. 

# # # # # 

How bold the flight of passion's wandering wing, 

How swift the step of reason's firmer tread, 

How calm and sweet the victories of life, 

How terrorless the triumph of the grave ! 

How powerless were the mightiest monarch's arm, 

Vain his loud threat and impotent his frown ! 

How ludicrous the priest's dogmatic roar ! 

The weight of his exterminating curse, 

How light ! and his affected charity, 

To suit the pressure of the changing times, 

What palpable deceit ! — but for thy aid, 

Religion ! but for thee, prolific fiend, 

Who peoplest earth with demons, hell with men, 

And heaven with slaves ! 

Thou taintest all thou look'st upon ! — The stars, 

Which on thy cradle beamed so brightly sweet, 

Were gods to the distempered playfulness 

3f thy untutored infancy : the trees, 

The grass, the clouds, the mountains, and the sea, 



PERCY B. SHELLEY. 



163 



All living things that walk, swim, creep, or fly, 

Were gods : the sun had homage, and the moon 

Her worshipper. Then thou becam'st a boy, 

More daring in thy frenzies : every shape, 

Monstrous or vast, or beautifully wild, 

Which, from sensation's relics, fancy culls; 

The spirits of the air, the shuddering ghost, 

The genii of the elements, the powers 

That give a shape to nature's varied works, 

Had life and place in the corrupt belief 

Of thy blind heart : yet still thy youthful hands 

Were pure of human blood. Then manhood gave 

Its strength and ardor to thy frenzied brain ; 

Thine eager gaze scanned the stupendous scene, 

Whose wonders mocked the knowledge of thy pride. 

Their everlasting and unchanging laws 

Reproached thine ignorance. Awhile thou stood'st 

Baffled and gloomy ; then thou did'st sum up 

The elements of all that thou did'st know ; 

The changing seasons, winter's leafless reign, 

The budding of the heaven-breathing trees, 

The eternal orbs that beautify the night, 

The sunrise, and the setting of the moon, 

Earthquakes and wars, and poisons and disease, 

And all their causes, to an abstract point, 

Converging, thou did'st bend, and called it God; 

The self-sufficing, the omnipotent, 

The merciful, and the avenging God ! 

Who, prototype of human misrule, sits 

High in Heaven's realm, upon a golden throne, 

Even like an earthly king : and whose dread work, 

Hell gapes forever for the unhappy slaves 

Of fate, whom he created in his sport, 

To triumph in their torments when they fell ! 

Earth heard the name ; earth trembled, as the smoke 

Of his revenge ascended up to Heaven, 

Blotting the constellations : and the cries 

Of millions, butchered in sweet confidence 

And unsuspecting peace, even when the bonds 

Of safety were confirmed by wordy oaths, 



164 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



Sworn in his dreadful name, rung through the land; 
Whilst innocent babes writhed on thy stubborn spear, 
And thou did'st laugh to hear the mother's shriek 
Of maniac gladness, as the sacred steel 
Felt coid in her torn entrails ! 

Religion ! thou wert then in manhood's prime ; 
But age crept on : one God would not suffice 
For senile puerility ; thou fram'dst 
A tale to suit thy dotage, and to glut 
Thy misery-thirsting soul, that the mad fiend 
Thy wickedness had pictured might afford 
A plea for sating the unnatural thirst 
For murder, rapine, violence, and crime, 
That still consumed thy being, even when 
Thou heard'st the step of fate :— that fUmes might 
light 

Thy funeral scene, and the shrill horrent shrieks 
Of parents dying on the pile that burned 
To light their children to thy paths, the roar 
Of the encircling flames, the exulting cries 
Of thine apostles, loud commingling there, 

Might sate thy hungry ear 

Even on the bed of death ! 

But now contempt is mocking thy gray hairs; 
Thou art descending to the darksome grave, 
Unhonored and unpitied, but by those 
Whose pride is passing by like thine, and sheds 
Like thine, a glare that fades before the sun 
Of truth, and shines but in the dreadful night 
That long has lowered above the ruined world. 99 

Speaking of the Atheist's martyrdom, in answer to 
the spirit of " Ianthe," Shelley makes his fairy say : - 

" There is no God! 
Nature confirms the faith his death-groan sealed. 
Let heaven and earth, let man's revolving race, 
His ceaseless generations, tell their tale ; 



PERCY B. SHELLEY. 



Let every part depending an the chain 

That Jinks it to the whole, point to the hand 

That grasps its term I Let every seed that falls 

In silent eloquence unfold its store 

Of argument. Infinity within, 

Infinity without, belie creation ; 

The exterminable spirit it contains 

Is nature's only God : but human pride 

Is skilful to invent most serious names 

To hide its ign ranee. 

The name of God 
Has fenced about all crime with holiness, 
Himself the creature of his worshippers, 
Whose names and attributes and passions change, 
Seeva, Buddh, Foh, Jehovah, God, or Lord, 
Even with the human dupes who build his shrines. 
Still serving o'er the war-polluted world 
For desolation's watch-word ; whether hosts 
Stain his death-blushing chariot wheels, as on 
Triumphantly they roll, whilst Brahmins raise 
A sacred hymn to mingle with the groans; 
Or countless partners of his powers divide 
His tyranny to weakness : or the smoke 
Of burning towns, the cries of female helplessness, 
Unarmed old age, and youth, and infancy, 
Horribly massacred, ascend to heaven 
In honor of his name ; or, last and worst, 
Earth groans beneath religion's iron age, 
And priests dare babble of a God of peace, 
Even whilst their hands are red with guiltless blood, 
Murdering the while, uprooting every germ 
Of truth, exterminating, spoiling all, 
Making the earth a slaughter-house," 

" Ianthe's ?? spirit, however, asks still further, and the 
ghost of Ahasuerus having been summoned, the ques- 
tion is repeated, " Is there a God I " 

"Ahasuerus. — Is there a God!? ay, an Almighty God, 
And vengeful as Almighty ! Once his voice 



166 



BIOGRAPHY Or 



Was heard on earth : earth shuddered at the sound J 

The fiery-visaged firmament expressed 

Abhorrence, and the grave of nature yawned 

To swallow all the dauntless and the good 

That dared to hurl defiance at his throne, 

Girt as it was with power. None but slaves 

Survived, — cold-blooded slaves, who did the work 

Of tyrannous omnipotence : whose souls 

No honest indignation ever urged 

To elevated daring, to one deed 

Which gross and sensual self did not pollute. 

These slaves built temples for the omnipotent fiend, 

Gorgeous and vast : the costly altars smoked 

With human blood, and hideous paeans rung 

Through all the long-drawn aisles. A murderer heard 

His voice in Egypt, one whose gifts and arts 

Had raised him to his eminence in power, 

Accomplice of omnipotence in crime, 

And confidant of the all-knowing one. 

These were Jehovah's words : 
" From an eternity of idleness 
I, God, awoke : in seven days 7 toil made earth 
From nothing ) rested, and created man. 
I placed him in a paradise, and there 
Planted the tree of evil, so that he 
Might eat and perish, and my soul procure 
Wherewith to sate its malice, and to turn, 
Even like a heartless conqueror of the earth, 
All misery to my fame. The race of men, 
Chosen to my honor, with impunity, 
May sate the lusts I. planted in their heart. 
Here I command thee hence to lead them on, 
Until, with hardened feet, their conquering troops 
Wade on the promised soil through woman's blood, 
And make my name be dreaded through the land. 
Yet ever burning flame and ceaseless woe 
Shall be the doom of their eternal souls, 
With every soul on this ungrateful earth, 
Virtuous or vicious, weak or strong, — even all 



PERCY B. SHELLEY. 



1 



Shall perish, to fulfil the blind revenge 
Which you, to men, call justice, of their God." 

The murderer's brow 

Quivered with horror. 

God omnipotent ! 
Is there no mercy] must our punishment 
Be endless] will long ages roll away, 
And see no term ] Oh ! wherefore hast thou made 
In mockery and wrath this evil earth ? 
Mercy becomes the powerful — be but just : 

God ! repent and save. 

" One way remains, 

1 will beget a son, and he shall bear 
The sins of all the world : he shall arise 
In an unnoticed corner of the earth, 

And there shall die upon a cross, and purge 

The universal crime ; so that the few 

On whom my grace descends, those who are marked 

As vessels to the honor of their God, 

May credit this strange sacrifice, and save 

Their souls alive. Millions shall live and die 

Who ne'er shall call upon their Saviour's name, 

But, unredeemed, go to the gaping grave. 

Thousands shall deem it an old woman's tale, 

Such as the nurses frighten babes withal. 

These in a gulph of anguish and of flame 

Shall curse their reprobation endlessly. 

Yet tenfold pangs shall force them to avow, 

Even on their beds of torment, where they howl, 

My honor, and the justice of their doom. 

What then avail their virtuous deeds, their thoughts 

Of purity, with radiant genius bright, 

Or lit with human reason's earthly ray ] 

Many are called, but few I will elect. 

Do thou my bidding, Moses ! " 

In his poem of " Rosalind and Helen," the poet i 
dulges in the following prophecy, which he puts in tl 
mouth of Helen : — 



"68 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



" Fear not the tyrants shall rule forever, 
Or the priests of the bloody faith ; 
They stand on the brink of that mighty river, 
Whose waves they have tainted with death. 
It is fed from the depths of a thousand dells, 
Around them it foams, and rages, and swells; 
And their swords and their sceptres I floating see> 
Like wrecks on the surge of eternity. 77 

Beside the poems mentioned, Shelley wrote " The 
Cenci,' 7 " Ala<tor, 77 " Prometheus Unbound, 77 and ma- 
ny others, including a beautiful little ode to a " Sky- 
lark, 77 and the well-known " Sensitive Plant. 77 

Shelley was a true and noble man — no poet was ever 
warmed by a more genuine and unforced aspiration. — 
De Quincey says, " Shelley would, from his earliest 
manhood, have sacrificed all that he possessed for any 
comprehensive purpose of good for the race of man. 
He dismissed all insults and injuries from his memory. 
He was the sincerest and most truthful of human crea 
tures. If he denounced marriage as a vicious institu- 
tion, that was but another phase of the partial lunacy 
which affected him : for to no man were purity and fi- 
delity more essential elements in the idea of real love. 77 
Again, De Quincey speaks of Shelley 7 s " fearlessness, 
his gracious nature, his truth, his purity from all flesb- 
liness of appetite, his freedom from vanity, his diffusive 
love and tenderness. 77 This testimony is worth much, 
the more especially when we remember that it is from 
the pen of Thomas de Quincey, who, while truthfully 
acknowledging the man, hesitates not to use polished 
irony, rough wit, and covert sneering, when dealing 
with the man's uttered thinkings. 

That Shelley understood the true mission of a poet, 
and the true nature of poetry, will appear from the fol- 
lowing extract from one of his prose essays : — " Poet- 
ry, 77 he says, cl is the record of the best and happiest 
moments of the happiest and best minds. We are 
aware of evanescent visitations of thought and feeling, 
sometimes associated with place and person, some- 



PERCY B. SHELLEY. 



169 



times regarding our own mind alone, and always aris- 
ing unforeseen, and departing unbidden, but elevating 
and delightful beyond all expression. Poets are not 
only subject to these experiences, a« spirits of the most 
refined organization, but they can color all they com 
bine with the evanescent lines of this ethereal world ; 
a word, a trait in the representation of a scene or pas- 
sion will touch the enchanted cord, and reanimate in 
those who have ever experienced these emotions, the 
sleeping, the cold, the buried image of the past. Poet- 
ry thus makes immortal all that is best and most beau- 
tiful in the world • it arrests the vanishing apparitions 
which haunt the interlunations of life, and veiling 
them, or in language or in form, sends them forth 
among mankind, bearing sweet news of kindred joy to 
those with whom their sisters abide — abide, because 
there is no portal of expression from the caverns of the 
spirit which they inhabit into the universe of things. ?; 

Shelley's beautiful imagery and idealistic drapery is 
sometimes so accumulated in his poems, that it is dif- 
ficult to follow him in his thinkings. In his verse he 
wishes to stand high as a philosophical reasoner, and 
this, together with his devotion to the cause, which 
even men of De Quincey's stamp call " Insolent Infi- 
delity, 77 has prevented Shelley from becoming so pop- 
ular as he might have been. 

Shelley lived a life of strife, passed his boyhood and 
youth in struggling to be free — misunderstood and mis- 
interpreted : and when at last in his manhood happier 
circumstances were gathering around him, a blast of 
wind came, and the waves of the sea washed away one 
who was really and truly " a man and a poet. ?J 

On Monday. July 8th, 1822, being then in his 29th 
year, Shelley was returning from Leghorn to his home 
at Lerici, in a schooner-rigged boat of his own, with 
one friend and an English servant; when the boat had 
reached about four miles from the shore, the storm 
suddenly rose, and the wind suddenly shifted. From 
excessive smoothness, all at once the sea was foaming, 
and breaking, and getting up in a heavy swell. The 
15 



170 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



boat is supposed to have filled to leeward, and (carry- 
ins: two tons of ballast) to have sunk instantaneously 
— all on board were drowned. The body of Shelley 
was washed on shore eight days afterwards, near Via 
Reggio, in an advanced state of decomposition, and 
was therefore burned on a funeral pyre, in the presence 
of Leigh Hunt, Lord Byron, Mr. Trelawney, and a Cap- 
tain Shenley. 

Thus died Shelley in the mid day of life, and ere the 
warm sun of that mid-day could dispel the clouds that 
had gathered round the morning of his career. The 
following comparison made between the personal ap- 
pearance of Shelley and of Byron, by Gilfillan, has 
been called by De Quincey " an eloquent parallel," 
and we therefore conclude the present number by quot- 
ing it : — u In the forehead and head of Byron there 
is more massive power and breadth : Shelley has a 
smooth, arched, spiritual expression ; wrinkle there 
seems none on his brow ; it is as if perpetual youth 
had there dropped its freshness. Byron's eye seems 
the focus of pride and lust : Shelley's is mild, pensive, 
fixed on you, but seeing you through the mist of his 
own idealism. Defiance curls on Byron's nostril, and 
sensuality steeps his full large lips. The lower fea- 
tures of Shelley's face are frail, teminine, flexible. — 
Byron's head is turned upwards as if having risen 
proudly above his contemporaries, he w T ere daring 
to claim kindred, or demand a contest with a supe- 
rior order of beings. Shelley's is half bent, in rev- 
erence and humility, before some vast vision seen by 
his own eye alone. Misery erect, and striving to cover 
its retreat under an aspect of contemptuous fury, is 
the permanent and pervading expression of Byron's 
countenance. Sorrow, softened and shaded awa) by 
hope and habit, lies like a 1 holier day 7 of still moon- 
shine upon that of Shelley. In the portrait of Byron, 
taken at the age of nineteen, you see the unnatural 
age of premature passion * his hair is young, his dress 
is youthful, but his face is old. In Shelley you see the 
eternal child, none the less that his hair is grey, and 
that sorrow seems half his immortality. ;? " I, M 



BIOGRAPHY 



OF 

CLAUD ASIAN HELVETIUS. 



If France, at the present day, has not reason to be 
proud of its "leading man/' it has in former times 
produced those minds that shed lustre upon the coun- 
try, and who, by their literature, add immortality to 
its renown. During the eighteenth century, when 
religious persecution and intolerance were rampant 
throughout Europe, France furnished men to check 
oppression and expose superstition, while others fol- 
lowed to lay the foundation of excellence and great- 
ness in the examination and cultivation of its true 
source — the mind. Helvetius sought to direct men'"s 
attention to self-examination, and to show how many 
disputes might be avoided if each person understood 
what he was disputing about. " Helvetius on the 
Mind J; is a work that ought to be read widely, and 
studied attentively, especially by " rising young men, ?? 
as it is one of those Secular works too rarely found 
among our literature. 

Claud Arian Helvetius was born in Paris in the 
year 1715. After his preparatory studies, he was sent 
to the College of Louis le Grand, having for his tutor 
the famous Poree, who bestowed additional attention 
upon Helvetius, perceiving in him great talent and 
genius. Early in life Helvetius formed the friendship 
of some of the leading minds of France, Montesquieu 
being his intimate friend. Voltaire, too, sought his 



172 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



correspondence when at the age of twenty-three, call- 
ing him his " Young Apoilo," and his " Son of Parnas- 
sus.' 7 The first literary attempts of Helvetius consist- 
ed of poetry-*-" Epistles on Happiness," which ap- 
peared as a posthumous production, with the " lavish 
commendations''' of Voltaire. After ten years' thought 
and study Helvetius. in 1758, published a work enti- 
tled " De L'Esprit," which brought upon him a great 
amount of persecution. The Parliament of Paris con- 
demned it, and Helvetius was removed from the office 
he held of " Maitre d'Hotel to the Queen." Voltaire 
remarks : — " It is a little extraordinary that they should 
have persecuted, disgraced, and harassed, a much re- 
spected philosopher of our days, the innocent, the good 
Helvetius, for having said that if men had been with- 
out hands they could not have built houses, or worked 
in tapestry. Apparently those who have condemned 
this proposition, have a secret for cutting stones and 

wood, and for sewing with the feet I have no 

doubt that they will soon condemn to the galleys the 
first who shall have the insolence to say, that a man 
cannot think without his head ; for, some bachelor will 
tell him, the soul is a pure spirit, the head is nothing 
but matter : God can place the soul in the nails, as 
well as in the skull, therefore I proscribe you as im- 
pious." During the persecution raised against him, 
Helvetius visited England in 1764. In 1765 he visited 
Prussia, being well received by Frederick, in whose 
place he lodged. Voltaire strongly advised Helvetius 
to leave France in these words : — " In your place, I 
should not hesitate a moment to sell aU that I have in 
France; there are some excellent estates in my neigh- 
borhood, and there you might cultivate in peace the 
arts you love." About this period Hume became ac- 
quainted with Helvetius, whom he styles, in writing 
to Dr. Robertson, " a very fine genius and worthy 
man." In 1765, Helvetius returned from Prussia, and 
retired to his estate at Vore. The sight of misery 
much affected him; and when relieving distress, he 
enjoined strict secrecy. Sometimes, when told he re- 



HELVETIUS. 



173 



lieved those undeserving his aid, he would say, "If I 
were a king I would correct them, but as I am only 
rich and they are poor, I do my duty in relieving 
them. 75 An attack of gout in the head and stomach 
terminated his life in December, 1771, in the fifty-sixth 
year of his age. 

In " De L'Esprit, or, Essays on the Mind, 7 ' chap. I., 
Helvetius makes the following remarks on the " Mind 
considered in itself J; : — 

" We hear every day disputes with regard to what 
ought to be called the Mind ; each person delivers his 
thoughts, but annexes different ideas to the word • and 
thus the debate is continued, without understanding 
each other. In order, therefore, to enable us to give a 
just and precise idea of the word Mind, and its differ- 
ent acceptations, it is necessary first to consider the 
Mind in itself. We consider the Mind either as the 
effect of the faculty of thinking, and in this sense the 
Mind is no more than an assemblage of our thoughts , 
or, we consider it as the very faculty of thinking. But 
in order to understand what is meant by the Mind, in 
the latter acceptation, we ought previously to know 
the productive causes of our ideas. Man has two fac- 
ulties * or, if I may be allowed the expression, two 
passive powers whose existence is generally and dis- 
tinctly acknowledged. The one is the faculty of re- 
ceiving the different impressions caused by external 
objects, and is called Physical Sensibility. The other 
is the faculty of preserving the impressions caused by 
those objects, called Memory j and Memory is nothing 
more than a continued, but weakened sensation. — 
Those faculties which I consider as the productive 
causes of our thoughts, and which we have in common 
with beasts, would produce but a very small number 
of ideas, if they were not assisted by certain external 
organizations. If Nature, instead of hands and flexible 
fingers, had terminated our wrist with the foot of a 
horse, mankind would doubtless have been totally des- 
titute of art, habitation, and defence against other ani- 
15* 



174 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



mais. Wholly employed in the care of procuring food, 
and avoiding the beasts of prey, they would have still 
continued wandering in the forests, like fugitive flocks. 
It is therefore evident that, according to this supposi- 
tion, the police would never have been carried in any 
society to that degree of perfection, to which it is now 
arrived. There is not a nation now existing, but, with 
regard to the action of the mind, must not have con- 
tinued very inferior to certain savage nations, who have 
not two hundred different ideas, nor two hundred words 
to express those ideas; and whose language must con- 
sequently be reduced, like that of animals, to five or 
six different sounds or cries, if we take from it the 
words bow, arrow, nets, etc., which suppose the use of 
hands. From whence I conclude, that, without a cer- 
tain exterior organization, sensibility and memory in 
us w T ould prove two sterile faculties. We ought to ex- 
amine if these two faculties, by the assistance of this 
organization, have in reality produced all our thoughts. 
But. before we examine this subject, I may possibly 
be asked whether these two faculties are modifications 
of a spiritual or a material substance ? This question, 
which has formerly been so otteu debated by philoso- 
phers, and by some persons revived in our time, does 
not necessarily fall within the limits of my work. — 
What I have to offer, with regard to the Mind, is equal- 
ly conformable to either of these hypothesis. I shall 
therefore only observe that, if the church had not fixed 
our belief in respect to this particular, and we had been 
obliged by the light of reason alone to acquire a knowl- 
edge of the thinking principle, we must have granted, 
that neither opinion is capable of demonstration ; and 
consequently that, by weighing the reasons on both 
sides, balancing the difficulties, and determining in 
favor of the greater number of probabilities, we should 
form only conditional judgments. It would be the fate 
of this problem, as it hath been of many others, to be 
resolvable only by the assistance of the calculation of 
probabilities." 



HELVETIUS. 



175 



Helvetius, on the question u whether genius ought 
to be considered as a natural gift, or as an effect of 
education/ 7 says : — 

" I am going to examine in this discourse what the 
mind receives from nature and education \ for which 
purpose it is necessary first, to determine what is here 
meant by the word Nature. This word may raise in 
our minds a confused idea of a being or a force that 
has endued us with all our senses : now the senses are 
the sources of all our ideas. Being deprived of our 
senses, we are deprived of all the ideas relative to 
them : a man born blind has for this reason no idea of 
colors ,* it is then evident that, in this signification, ge- 
nius ought to be considered as a gift of nature. But, 
if the word be taken in a different acceptation, and we 
suppose that among the men well formed and endued 
with all their senses, without any perceivable defect 
of their organization, nature has made such a remark- 
able difference, and formed such an unequal distribu- 
tion of the intellectual powers, that one shall be so or- 
ganized as to be stupid, and the other be a man of ge- 
nius, the question will become more delicate. I con- 
fess that, at first, we cannot consider the great ine- 
quality in the minds of men, without admitting that 
there is the same difference between them as between 
bodies, some of which are weak and delicate, while 
others are strong and robust. What can here occasion 
such variations from the uniform manner wherein na- 
ture operates] This reasoning, it is true, is founded 
only on analogy. It is like that of the astronomers, 
who conclude that the moon is inhabited, because it is 
composed of nearly the same matter as our earth. — 
How weak soever this reasoning may be, it must yet 
appear demonstrative* for, say they, to what cause 
can be attributed the great disproportion of intellects 
observable between people who appear to have had 
the same education ? In order to reply to this objec- 
tion, it is proper first to inquire, whether several men 
cahj stricily speaking, have the same education ; and 



176 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



for this purpose to fix the idea included in the word 
Education. If by education we merely understand 
that received in the same places, and under the same 
masters ; in this sense the education is ihe same with 
an infinite number of men. But, if we give to thii 
word a more true and extensive signification, and in 
general comprehend everything that relates to our in 
stiuction; theu I say, that nobody receives the same 
education ; because each individual has, for his pre- 
ceptors, if I may be allowed to say so, the form of gov- 
ernment under which he lives, his friends, his mistress- 
es, the people about him, whatever he reads, and in 
short chance ; that is, an infinite number of events, 
with respect to which our ignorance will not permit us 
to perceive their causes, and the chain that connects 
them together. Now, this chance has a greater share 
in our education than is imagined. It is this places 
certain objects before us, and in consequence of this, 
occasions more happy ideas, and sometimes leads to 
the greatest discoveries. To give some examples : it 
was chance that conducted Galileo into the gardens 
of Florence, when the gardeners were working the 
pumps : it was that which inspired those gardeners, 
when, not being able to raise the water above the 
height of 32 feet, to ask him the cau-e, and by that 
question piqued the vanity of the philosopher, put in 
action by so casual a question, that obliged him to 
make this natural effect the subject of his thoughts, 
till, at last, by discovering the weight of the air, he 
found the solution of the problem. In the moment 
when the peaceful soul of Newton was employed by 
no business, and agitated by no passion, it was also 
chance that, drawing him under an apple tree, loos- 
ened some of the fruit from the branches, and gave 
that philosopher the first idea of his system on gravita- 
tion : it was really this incident that afterwards made 
him turn his thoughts to inquire whether the moon 
does not gravitate towards the earth with the same 
force as that with w 7 hich bodies fall on its surface ] It 
is then to cha.ice that great geniuses are frequently 



HELVETIUS. 



177 



obliged for their most happy thoughts. How many 
great minds are confounded among the people of mod- 
erate capacities for want of a certain tranquillity of soul, 
the question of a gardener, or the fall of an apple ! ?; 

Of the " exclusive qualities of the Mind and Soul,' 7 
Helvetius observes : — 

" My view in the preceding chapters was to affix 
clear ideas to the several qualities ot the mind, I pro- 
pose in this to examine if there are talents that must 
necessarily exclude each other ? This question, it is 
said, is determined by facts; no person is, at the same 
time, superior to all others in many different kinds of 
knowledge. Newton is not reckoned among the poets, 
nor Milton among the geometricians : the verses of 
Leibnitz are bad. There is not a man who, in a single 
art, as poetry, or painting, has succeeded in all the 
branches of it. Corneille and Racine have done noth- 
ing iti comedy comparable to Moliere : Michael An- 
gelo has not drawn the pictures of Albani, nor Albani 
painted those of Julius Romano. The genius of the 
greatest men appears then to be confined within very 
narrow limits. This is, doubtless, true : but I ask, what 
is the caused Is it time, or is it wit, which men want 
to render themselves illustrious in the different arts 
and sciences'* The progress of the human mind, it is 
said, ought to be the same in all the arts and sciences : 
the operations of the mind are reduced to the knowl- 
edge of the resemblances and differences that subsist 
between various objects. It is then by observation 
that we obtain, in all the different kinds of study, the 
new and general ideas on which our superiority de- 
pends. Every great physician, every great chemist, 
may then become a great geometrician, a great astron- 
omer, a great politician, and the first, in short, in all 
the sciences This fact being stated, it will doubtless 
be concluded, that it is the short duration of human 
life that forces superior minds to limit themselves to 
one kind of study. It must, however, be confessed, 
that there are talents and qualities possessed only by 



178 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



the exclusion of some others. Among mankind some 
are filled with the love of glory, and are not suscepti- 
ble of any other of the passions : some may excel in 
natural philosophy, civil law, geometry, and, in short, 
in all the sciences that consist in the comparison of 
ideas. A fondness for any other study can only dis- 
tract or precipitate them into errors. There are other 
men susceptible not only of the love of glory, but an 
infinite number of other passions : these may become 
celebrated in different kinds of study, where the suc- 
cess depends on being moved. Such is, for instance, 
the dramatic kind of writing : but, in order to paint the 
passions, we must, as I have already said, feel them 
very warmly : we are ignorant both of the language 
of the passions and of the sensations they excite in us, 
when we have not experienced them. Thus ignorance 
of this kind always produces mediocrity. If Fonte- 
nelle had been obliged 1o paint the characters of Rha- 
damistus, Brutus, or Catalme, that great man would 

certainly have fallen much below mediocrity Let 

a man, for instance, like M. de Fontenelle, contem- 
plate, without severity, the wickedness of mankind ; 
let him consider it, let him rise up against crimes with- 
out hating the criminals, and people will applaud his 
moderation ; and yet, at the same instant, they will 
accuse him of being too lukewarm in friendship. They 
do not perceive, that the same absence of the passions, 
to which he owes the moderation they commend, must 
necessarily render him less sensible of the charms of 
friendship. 77 

The " abuse of words 77 by different schools of phil- 
osophers is thus ably pointed out : — 

" Descartes had before Locke observed that the Peri- 
patetics, intrenching themselves behind the obscurity 
of words, were not unlike a blind man, who, in order 
to be a match for his clear-sighted antagonist, should 
draw him into a dark cavern. 1 Now, 7 added he, £ if 
this man can introduce light into the cavern, and com- 
pel the Peripatetics to fix clear ideas to their words, 



HELVETIUS. 



179 



the victory is his own. In imitation of Descartes and 
Locke, I shall show that, both in metaphysics and mo- 
rality, the abuse of words, and the ignorance of their 
true import, is a labyrinth in which the greatest ge- 
niuses have lost themselves; and, in order to set this 
particular in a clear light, instance, in some of those 
words which have given rise to the longest and sharp- 
est disputes among philosophers : such, in metaphy- 
sics, are Matter, Space, and Infinite. It has at all 
times been alternately asserted that Matter felt, or did 
not feel, and given rise to disputes equally loud and 
vague. It was very late before it came into the dis- 
putants' heads to ask one another, what they were dis- 
puting about, and to annex a precise idea to the word 
Matter. Had they at first fixed the meaning of it, they 
would have perceived, if I may use the expression, 
that men were the creators of Matter; that Matter 
was not a being; that in nature there were only indi 
viduals to which the name of Body had been given ; 
and that this word Matter could import no more than 
the collection of properties common to all bodies. The 
meaning of this word being determined, all that re- 
mained was to know, whether extent, solidity, and 
impenetrability, were the only properties common to 
all bodies ; and whether the discovery of a power, such 
for instance as attraction, might not give rise to a con- 
jecture that bodies had some properties hitherto un- 
known, such as that of sensation, which, though evi- 
dent only in the organized members of animals, might 
yet be common to all individuals'? The question being 
reduced to this, it would have appeared that if, strictly 
speaking, it is impossible to demonstrate that all bo- 
dies are absolutely insensible, no man, unless instruct- 
ed by a particular revelation, can decide the question 
otherwise than by calculating and comparing the veri- 
similitude of this opinion with that of the contrary 

Instructed by the errors of great men who have gone 
before us, we should be sensible that our observations, 
however multiplied and concentrated, are scarcely suf- 
ficient to form one of those partial systems comprehend- 



130 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



ed in the general system ; and that it is from the depth 
of imagination that the several systems of the universe 
have hitherto been drawn ; and, as our informations of 
remote countries are always imperfect, so the informa- 
tions philosophers have of the system of the world are 
also defective. With a great genius and a multitude 
of combinations, the products of their labors will be 
only fictions till time and chance shall furnish them 
with a general fact, to which all others may be re- 
ferred. 

" What I have said of the word Matter, I say also of 
Space. Most of the philosophers have made a being 
of it ; and the ignorance of the true sense of the word 
has occasioned long disputes. They would have been 
greatly shortened by annexing a clear idea to this 
word ; for then the sages would have agreed that 
Space, considered in bodies, is what we call exten- 
sion ; that we owe the idea of a void, which partly 
composes the idea of Space, to the interval seen be- 
twixt two lofty mountains ; an interval which, being 
filled only by air, that is, by a body which at a certain 
distance makes no sensible impression on us, must 
have given us an idea of a vacuum; being nothing 
more than a power of representing to ourselves moun- 
tains separated from each other, and the intervening 
distances not being filled by other bodies. With re- 
gard to the idea of Infinite, comprehended also within 
the idea of Space, I say that we owe this idea of Infi- 
nite only to the power which a man standing on a plain 
has of continually extending its limits, the boundary 
of his imagination not being determinable : the ab- 
sence of limits is therefore the only idea we can form 
of Infinite. Had philosophers, previously to their giv- 
ing any opinion on this subject, determined the sig- 
nification of the word Infinite, I am inclined to believe 
they would have adopted the above definition, and not 
spent their time in frivolous disputes. To the false 
philosophy of former ages, our gross ignorance of the 
true signification of words is principally owing ; as the 
art of abusing them made up the greatest part of that 



HELVETIUS. 



181 



philosophy. This art, in which the whole science of 
the schools consisted, confounded all ideas : and the 
obscurity it threw on the expressions, generally dif- 
fused itself over all the sciences, especially morality. ;? 

The following remarks show Helvetius's noti©ns of 
the "love of glory " : — 

" By the word Strong-Passion, I mean a passion the 
object of which is so necessary to our happiness, that 
without the possession of it life would be insupporta- 
ble. This was Omar's idea of the passion, when he 
said, 1 Whoever thou art, that lovest liberty, desirest 
to be wealthy without riches, powerful without sub- 
jects, a subject without a master, dare to condemn 
death : kings will then tremble before thee, whilst 

thou alone shalt fear no person. 7 It was the passion 

of honor and philosophic fanaticism alone that could 
induce Timicha, the Pythagorean, in the midst of tor- 
ture, to bite off her tongue, that she might not expose 
herself to reveal the secrets of her sect. Cato, when 
a child, going with his tutor to Sylla's palace, at see- 
ing the bloody heads of the proscribed, asked with im- 
patience the name of the monster who had caused so 
many Roman citizens to be murdered. He was ans- 
wered, it was Sylla : 1 How,' says he, c does Sylia 
murder thus, and is Sylla still alive ^ ' ' Yes,' it 
was replied, 4 the very name of Sylla disarms our cit- 
izens. 7 1 Oh ! Rome, ; cried Cato, 1 deplorable is thy 
fate, since within the vast compass of thy walls not a 
man of virtue can be found, and the arm of a feeble 
child is the only one that will oppose itself against ty- 
ranny ! ? Then, turning towards his governor, 1 Give 
m^' said he, f your sword* I will conceal it under 
my robe, approach Sylla, and kill him. Cato lives, 

and Rome is again free.' If the generous pride, the 

passion of patriotism and glory, determine citizens to 
such heroic actions, with what resolution and intrepid- 
ity do not the passions inspire those who aim at dis- 
tinction in the arts and sciences, and whom Cicero 
calls the peaceable heroes^ It is from a desire of glory 
16 



182 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



that tl.e astronomer is seen, on the icy summits of the 
Cordil eras, placing his instruments in the midst of 
snows and frost ; which conducts the botanist to the 
brinks of precipices in quest of plants; which ancient- 
ly carried the juvenile lovers of the sciences into Egypt ; 
Ethiopia, and even into the Indies, for visiting the most 
celebrated philosophers, and acquiring from their con- 
versation the principles of their doctrine. How strong- 
ly did this passion exert itself in Demosthenes, who, 
for perfecting his pronunciation, used every day to 
stand on the sea-shore, and with his mouth full of peb- 
bles harangue the agitated waves ! It was from the 
same desire of glory that the young Pythagoreans sub- 
mitted to a silence of three years, in order to habituate 
themselves to recollection and meditation ; it induced 
Democritus to shun the distractions of the world, and 
retire among the tombs, to meditate on those valuable 
truths, the discovery of which, as it is always very dif- 
ficult, is also very little esteemed ; in fine, it was this 
that prompted Heraclitus to cede to his younger bro- 
ther the throne of Ephesus, to which he had the right 
of primogeniture, that he might give himself up en- 
tirely to philosophy ; which made the Athletic improve 
his strength, by denying himself the pleasures of love ; 
it was also from a desire of popular applause that cer- 
tain ancient priests renounced the same pleasures, and 
often, as Boindin pleasantly observes of them, without 
any other recompense for their continence than the per- 
petual temptation it occasions 1 The cause,' says 

Cardinal Richelieu, c why a timorous mind perceives 
an impossibility in the most simple projects, when to 
an elevated mind the most arduous seems easy, is, be- 
cause, before the latter the mountains sink, and be- 
fore the former mole-hills are metamorphosed into 
mountains.' ?? 

The different motives that influence our conduct are 
thus stated : — 

11 A mother idolizes her son - 1 1 love him, ? says she, 
i for his own sake. 7 However, one might reply, you 



HELVETIUS. 



183 



take no care of his education, though you are in no 
doubt that a good one would contribute infinitely to 
his happiness;- why, therefore, do not you consult 
some men of sense about him, and read some of the 
works written on this subject 1 i Why, because, 7 
says she, 4 1 think I know as much of this matter as 
those authors and their works.' But how did you get 
this confidence in your own understanding'? Is it not 
the effect of your indifference % An ardent desire al- 
ways inspires us with a salutary distrust of ourselves. 
If we have a suit at law of considerable consequence, 
we visit counsellors and attorneys, w T e consult a great 
number, and examine their advice. Are we attacked 
by any of those lingering diseases, which incessantly 
place around us the shades and horrors of death 1 We 
seek physicians, compare their opinions, read physical 
books, we ourselves become little pnysicians Such 
is the conduct prompted by a warm interest. With 
respect to the education of children, if you are not in- 
fluenced in the same manner, it is because you do not 
love your son as well as yourself. i But,' adds the 
mother, ' what then should be the motive of my ten- 
derness! ' Among fathers and mothers, 1 reply, some 
are influenced by the desire of perpetuating their name 
in their children ; they properly love only their names ; 
others are fond of command, and see in their children 
their slaves. The animal leaves its young when their 
weakness no longer keeps them in dependence-; and 
paternal love becomes extinguished in almost all hearts, 
w T hen children have, by their age or station, attained 
to independence. ( Then,' said the poet Saadi, 1 the 
father sees nothing in them but greedy heirs,' and this 
is the cause, adds some poet,* of the extraordinary love 
of the grandfather for his grandchildren ; he considers 
them as the enemies of his enemies. There are, in 
short, fathers and mothers, who make their children 
their playthings and their pastime. The loss of this 
plaything would be insupportable to them; but would 
their affliction prove that they loved the child for it- 
self! Everybody knows this passage in the life of M, 



184 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



de Lauzun : he was in the Bastile; there, without 
books, without employment, a prey to lassitude arid 
the horrors of a prison, he took it in his hea'd to tame 
a spider. This was the only consolation he had left 
in his misfortune. The governor of the Bastile, from 
an inhumanity common to men accustomed to see the 
unhappy, crushed the spider. The prisoner felt the 
most cutting grief, and no mother could be affected by 
the death of a son with a more violent sorrow. Now 
whence is derived this conformity of sentiments for 
such different objects? It is because, in the loss of a 
child, or in the loss of the spider, people frequently 
weep for nothing but for the lassitude and want of em- 
ployment into which they fall. If mothers appear in 
general more afflicted at the death of a child than fa- 
thers employed in business, or given up to the pursuit 
of ambition, it is not because the mother loves her 
child more tenderly, but because she suffers a losa 
more difficult to be supplied. The errors, in my opin- 
ion, are, in this respect, very frequent; peoole rarely 
cherish a child for its own sake. That paternal love 
of which so many men make a parade, and by which 
they believe themselves so warmly affected, is most 
frequently nothing more than an effect, either of a de- 
sire of perpetuating their names, or of pride of com- 
mand Do you not know that Galileo was unworthily 

dragged to the prison of the Inquisition, for having 
maintained that the sun is placed in the centre, and 
does not move around the earth ; that his system first 
offended the weak, and appeared directly contrary to 
that text of Scripture — £ Sun, stand thou still 1 ? How- 
ever, able divines have since made Galileo's princi- 
pies agree with those of religion. Who has told you, 
that a divine more happy or more enlightened than 
you, will not remove the contradiction, which you think 
you perceive between your religion, and the opinion 
you resolve to condemn % Who forces you by a pre- 
cipitate censure to expose, if not religion, at least its 
ministers, to the hatred excited by persecution'? Why, 
always borrowing the assistance of force and terror, 



HELVETIUS. 



185 



would you impose silence on men of genius, and de- 
prive mankind of the useful knowledge they are capa- 
ble of dispensing I You obey, you say, the dictates of 
religion. But it commands you to distrust yourselves, 
and to love your neighbor. If you do not act in con- 
formity to these principles, you are then not actuated 
by the spirit of God. But you say, by whom then are 
we inspired \ By laziness and pride. It is laziness, 
the enemy of thought, which makes you averse to 
those opinions, which you cannot, without study and 
some fatigue of attention, unite with the principles re- 
ceived in the schools ; but which being proved to be 
philosophically true, cannot be theologically false. It 
is pride, which is ordinarily carried to a greater height 
in the bigot than in any other person, which makes 
him detest in the man of genius the benefactor of the 
human race, and which exasperates him against the 
truths discovered by humility. It is then this laziness 
and this pride, which, disguising themselves under the 
appearance of zeal, render them the persecutors of 
men of learning; and which in Italy, Spain, and Por- 
tugal, have forged chains, built gibbets, and held the 
torch to the piles of the Inquisition. Thus the same 
pride, which is so formidable in the devout fanatic, 
and which in all religions makes him persecute, in the 
name of the Most High, the men of genius, sometimes 
arms against them the men in power. After the ex- 
ample of those Pharisees, who treated as criminals the 
persons who did not adopt all their decisions, how many 
viziers treat, as enemies to the nation, those who dc 
not blindly approve their conduct ! n J. W. 

16* 



BIOGRAPHY 



OF 



FRANCES W. FAEUSMONT. 



The previous issues of this publication contain noti- 
ces of the lives and writings of men of eminence in 
the world of Freethought. This number is devoted to 
a review of the career and works of a most talented 
and accomplished lady — a Freethinker and Republi- 
can. As a proof — if any proof were needed — that wo- 
men, if adequately educated, are equally capable with 
men to become teachers and reformers, the works of 
the subject of present notice afford abundant evidence. 
The efforts now being made to procure an adjustment 
of the laws relating to women, whereby they will be 
protected in their property, and consequently improved 
in their social position, deserve the support of all class- 
es. When females become independent, there will 
be less ignorance among women and more happiness 
among men. 

Frances Wright, afterwards Madame D'Arusmont, 
was a native of Dundee, She was born on the 6th of 
September, 1795. She came of a wealthy family, who 
had been extensive holders of city property from the 
year 1500. Her father was a man of considerable lit- 
erary attainments, and to his active antiquarian re- 
searches and donations the British Museum is indebt- 
ed for many rare and valuable coins and medals. He 
died young, as also his wife, leaving three children — 
two girls and a boy. Frances was then but two years 



188 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



and a half old. At the wish of her grandfather, Gener- 
al Duncan Campbell, she was taken to England, and 
reared as a ward of Chancery, under the guardianship 
of a maternal aunt. She grew to be very tall in per- 
son, erect, and of a commanding figure; large eyes, 
and magnificent head, with a face somewhat mascu- 
line, but well formed, and decidedly handsome. Her 
brother was sent to India, at the age of fifteen, as a 
cadet in the East India Company's service, and was 
killed on the passage out in an encounter with a French 
vessel. Her sister passed her life with her, and died 
in Paris in 1831. 

At an early a^e, Miss \Vri2ht gave evidence of great 
intellectual ability. The education she received was 
of a very superior kind. She diligently applied herself 
to the various branches of science, and to the study of 
ancient and modern letters and the arts, being impelled 
by a strong desire for knowledge. At the age of nine- 
teen, she published her first work, u A Few Days in 
Athens. :) Her attention was early drawn to the suffer- 
ings of the lower classes, and on reflection she became 
convinced that some great vice lay at the foundation 
of the whole of human practice. She determined to 
endeavor to discover, and assist in removing it. She 
read Bocca's " History of the American Revolution,*' 
and resolved to visit that country, it appearing to her 
young imagination as the land of freedom and hope. — 
After having familiarised herself with the government 
and institutions of America, she sailed for New York 
1818. She returned to England in 1820, and published 
a large volume, entitled " Views of Society and Man- 
ners in America.*' It was dedicated to Jeremy Ben- 
tham, and had a large sale. The work being translat- 
ed into most of the continental languages, she became 
known to the prominent reformers of Europe. 

In 1821, she made her first visit to Paris, and was 
there introduced to General Lafayette, who, having 
previously read her work on America, invited her to 
that city. A republican in all her views and hopes, 
she was highly appreciated by Lafayette and other 



FRANCES WRIGHT d'aRUSMONT. 



189 



eminent supporters of the liberal party in France. — 
She remained in Paris until 1824, when she returned 
to the United States, and immediately undertook a pro- 
ject for the abolition of slavery upon a plan somewhat 
different from any that then engaged the attention of 
philanthropists. For this purpose she purchased two 
thousand acres of land at Chickasaw Bluffs, (now Mem- 
phis, Tennessee), intending to make a good farm rath- 
er than a cotton plantation. She then purchased sev- 
eral slave families, gave them their liberty, and re- 
moved them to the farm, residing there herself to di- 
rect their labor. Commencing this novel undertaking 
with all that enthusiasm for which she was remarka- 
ble, she continued the experiment some three years 
and a halt, when her health gave way, and, suffering 
under severe sickness, she made a voyage to Europe 
for her recovery. During her absence, the farm got 
involved in difficulties by the influence of her ene- 
mies; and finally, the whole project falling through, 
the negroes were sent off to Hayti at her expense. — 
She gave much time and money to the carrying for- 
ward of this experiment; and though it was a failure, 
it strikingly exhibited her strong sympathy and benev- 
olence for an oppressed and degraded class of beings. 
Returning from Europe, she went to New Harmony, 
(fndiana) to assume the proprietorship of a periodical 
(the Harmony Gazette), which had been published un- 
der the direction of Robert Dale Owen. In 1828 ; leav- 
ing Mr. Owen in charge of the paper, she began a lec- 
turing tour through the Union ; and probably no man, 
and certainly no woman^ ever met with such furious op- 
position. Her views, as announced in her paper, had 
made her generally known, and, being somewhat new 
and radically " anti-theological," brought down upon 
her head the rancor of religious bigotry. As no church 
or hall would be opened for her, she lectured in thea- 
tres ; and her ability and eloquence drew great audi- 
ences. On one occasion, while preparing to lecture in 
a theatre at Baltimore, she was threatened with the 
destruction of her life if she attempted to speak. She 



190 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



calmly replied, that she thought she knew the Ameri- 
can people, and for every riotous fanatic that might an- 
noy her, a hundred good citizens would protect her, 
and she was not afraid to place herself in their hands. 
She judged rightly. She went to the theatre, which 
was crammed from pit to ceiling, and lectured to an 
admiring and enthusiastic audience. In other cities 
she was not always so fortunate ; more or less rioting 
occurred, while the press, almost without exception, 
denounced her in the bitterest terms. Subsequently, 
her paper was removed to New York. Some years af- 
terwards, she again made a lecturing tour, but this 
time she spoke on subjects of a political nature, and 
met with a better reception. In addition to lecturing, 
she conducted a political magazine, entitled the Man- 
ual of American Principles, and was also engaged with 
Mr. Kneeland in editing the Boston Investigator. She 
wrote a great deal, and upon many subjects. Among 
her many works is a tragedy called Ci Altorf, 77 which 
was performed on the stage, the principal character 
being sustained by Mr. James VVallack. Her last work, 
of any considerable size, was entitled "England the 
Civiliser, 77 published in London in 1847. 

Madame D'Arusmout died suddenly in Cincinnati, 
on Tuesday, December 14, 1852, aged fifty-seven. She 
had been for sometime unwell, in consequence of a 
fall upon the ice the previous winter, which broke her 
thigh, and probably hastened her decease ; but the im- 
mediate cause of her death was the rupture of a blood- 
vessel. She was aware of her situation, knew when 
she was dying, and met her last hour with perfect com- 
posure. A daughter, her only child, survives her. 

In a small work entitled " Observations on Religion 
and Civilization, 77 are given the following "Definitions 
of Theology and Religion : in the words and in the 
things signified. Origin and Nature of Theology : 77 — 

" Theology from the Greek theos, logos, renders dis- 
tinct the meaning of the subject it attempts to treat. — 
TheoSj God, or Gods, unseen beings and unknown caus- 



• 



FRANCES WRIGHT d'aRUSMONT. 



191 



es. Logos, word, talk — or, if we like to employ yet 
more familiar and expressive terms, prattle or chatter. 
Talk, or prattle, about unseen beings or unknown causes. 
The idleness of the subject, and inutility — nay, abso- 
lute insanity of the occupation, sufficiently appears in 
the strict etymological meaning of the word' employed 
to typify them. The danger, the mischief, the cruelly 
immoral, and, if I may be permitted to coin a word for 
the occasion, the unhumanizing tendencies both of the 
subject and the occupation, when and where these are 
(as they have for the most part ever been throughout 
the civilized world) absolutely protected by law and 
upheld by government, .sufficiently appear also from 
the whole page of history. Religion, from the Latin re- 
ligo, religio, renders with equal distinctness the things 
signified. Religo, to tie over again, to bind fast; 
religio, a binding together, a bond of union. The 
importance of the great reality, here so accurately 
shadowed out ; appears sufficiently in the etymological 
signification of the word. Its utility will be evident if 
we read, with intelligence, the nature, the past histo- 
ry, the actual condition, and the future destiny of man. 
But now, taking these two things in the most strict 
etymological sense of the words which express them, 
it will readily be distinguished that the first is a neces- 
sary creation of the human intellect in a certain stage 
of inquiry ; the second, a necessary creation of the hu- 
man soul (by which I understand both our intellectual 
and moral faculties taken conjointly) in any and every 
state of human civilization. Theology argues, in its 
origin, the first awakening of human attention to the 
phenomena of nature, and the first crude efforts of hu- 
man ingenuity to expound them. While man sees the 
sun and stars without observing either their diurnal or 
their annual revolutions; while he receives upon his 
frame the rain and the wind, and the varying elements, 
without observing either their effects upon himself or 
upon the field of nature around him, he is as the brute 
which suffers and enjoys without inquiring why it ex- 
periences light or darkness^ pain or pleasure. When 



192 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



first he puts, in awkward languase, to himself or to his 
fellow, the question why does such an effect follow such a 
cause 2 he commences his existence, it" not as a reason- 
able being, (a state at which he has not yet arrived) at 
least as a being capable of reason. The answer to this 
first inquiry of awakening intelligence is, of course, 
such as his own circumscribed observation supplies. — 
It is, in fine, in accordance with the explanation of the 
old nurse to the child, who, asking, when startled by 
a rolling peal of thunder — ' what makes that noise ! ; 
was fully satisfied by the reply : ' my darling, it is 
God Almighty overhead moving his furniture. 7 Man 
awakening to thought, but still unfamiliar with the 
concatenation of natural phenomena, inevitably con- 
ceives of some huge being, or beings, bestriding the 
clouds and whirlwind, or wheeling the sun and the 
moon like chariots through the blue vault. And so 
again, fancy most naturally peoples the gloom of the 
night with demons, the woods and the waters with 
naiads and dryads, elves and lairies, the church-yard 
with ghosts, and ihe dark cave and the solitary cot with 
wizards, imps and old witches. Such, then, is theolo- 
gy in its origin ; and, in all its stages, we find it vary- 
ing in grossness according to the degree of ignorance 
of the human mind ; and, refining into verbal subtle- 
ties and misty metaphysics in proportion as that mind 
exchanges, in its progress from darkness to light, the 
gloom of ignorance for the mass of terror. ;? 

The nature of belief in the unknowable, and the dire 
consequences arising from fanaticism, are ably depict- 
ed in the following passages, selected from Lecture 
IV., on u Religion : ;; — 

" Admitting religion to be the most important of all 
subjects, its truths must be the most apparent ; for we 
shall readily concede, both that a thing true, must be 
always of more or less importance — and that a thing 
essentially important, must always be indisputably 
true. Now, again, I conceive we shall be disposed to 
admit, that exactly in proportion to the indisputability 



FRANCES WRIGHT d'aRUSMONT. 



193 



of a truth, is the proof it is capable of affording; and 
that, exactly in proportion to the proof afforded, is our 
admission of sucn truth and belief in it. If, then, re- 
ligion be the most important subject of human inquiry, 
it must be that also which presents the most forcible, 
irrefragable, and indisputable truths to the inquirer. — 
It must be that on which the human mind can err the 
least, and where all minds must be the most agreed. 
If religion be at once a science, and the most true of 
all sciences, its truths must be as indisputable as those 
in any branch of the mathematics — as apparent to ail 
the senses as those revealed by the chemist or observed 
by* the naturalist, and as easily referred to the test of 
our approving or disapproving sensations, as those in- 
volved in the science of morals Is religion a sci- 
ence ] Is it a branch of knowledge? Where are the 
things known upon which it rests I Where are the ac- 
cumulated facts of which it is compounded? What 
are the human sensations to which it appeals] Knowl- 
edge is compounded of things known. It is an accu- 
mulation of facts gleaned by our senses, within the 
range of material existence, which is subject to their 

investigation Now let us see where, in the table of 

knowledge, we may class religion. Of what part or 
division of nature, or material existence, does it treat] 
What bodies, or what properties of tangible bodies, 
does it place in contact with our senses, and bring 
home to the perception of our faculties] It clearly 
appertains not to the table of human knowledge, for 
it treats not of objects discoverable within the field of 
human observation. 'No,' will you say] 'but its 
knowledge is superhuman, unearthly — its field is in 
heaven.' My friends, the knowledge which is not 
human, is of slippery foundation to us human creatures. 
Things known, constitute knowledge; and here is a 
science treating of things unseen, unfelt, uncompre- 
hended ! Such cannot be knowledge. What, then, is 
it ] Probability ] possibility ? theory ? hypothesis : tra- 
dition 1 written? spoken? by whom? when? where? 
Let its teachers — nay, let all earth reply ! But what 



194 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



confusion of tongues and voices now strike on the ear! 
From either Indies, from torrid Africa, from the frozen 
regions of either pole, from the vast plains of ancient 
Asia, from the fields and cities of European industry, 
from the palaces of European luxury, from the soft 
chambers of priestly ease, from the domes of hierarchal 
dominion, from the deep cell of the self-immolated 
monk, from the stony cave of the self-denying anchor- 
ite, from the cloud-capt towers, spires, and minarets ot 
the crescent and the cross, arise shouts, and hosannas, 
and anathemas, in the commingled names of Brama, 
and Veeshnu, and Creeshna, and Juggernaut; heaven- 
ly kings, heavenly queens, triune deities, earth-born 
gods, heaven-born prophets, apotheosized monarchs, 
demon-enlightened philosophers, saints, angels, devils, 
giiosts, apparitions, and sorceries ! But, worse than 
these sounds which but stun the ear and confound the 
intellect, what sights, oh ! human kind ! appal the 
heart ! The rivers of earth run blood ! Nation set 
against nation ! Brother against brother ! Man against 
the companion of his bosom ! and that soft companion, 
maddened with the frenzy of insane remorse for imag- 
inary crimes, fired with the rage of infatuated bigotry, 
or subdued to diseased helplessness and mental fatuity, 
renounces kindred, flies from social converse, and pines 
away a useless or mischievous existence in sighings 
and tremblings, spectral fears, uncharitable feelings, 
and bitter denunciations ! Such are thy doings, oh ! 
religion ! Or, rather, such are thy doings, oh ! man ! 
While standing in a world so rich in sources of enjoy- 
ment, so stored with objects of real inquiry and attain- 
able knowledge, yet shutting thine eyes, and, worse, 
thine heart, to the tangible things and sentient crea- 
tures around thee, and winging thy diseased imagina- 
tion beyond the light of the sun w T hich gladdens thy 
world, and contemplation of the objects which are here 
to expand thy mind and quicken the pulses of thy 

heart ! I will pray ye to observe how much of our 

positive misery originates in our idle speculations in 
matters of faith, and in our blind, our fearful forgetful- 



FRANCES WRIGHT d'aRUSMOKT. 



195 



ness of facts — our cold, heartless, and, I will say, in- 
sane indifference to visible causes of tangible evil, and 

visible sources of tangible happiness. Look to the 
walks of life, I beseech ye — look into the public prints 

—look into your sectarian churches — look into the bos- 
oms of families — look into your own bosoms, and those 
of your fellow beings, and see how many of our dis- 
putes and dissensions, public and private — how many 
of our unjust actions — how many of cur harsh judg- 
ments — how many of our uncharitable feelings — spring 
out of our ignorant ambition to rend the veil which 
wraps from our human senses the knowledge of things 
unseen, and from our human faculties the conception 
of causes unknown'? And oh ! my fellow beings ! do 
not these very words unseen and unknown, warn the 
enthusiast against the profanity of such inquiries, and 
proclaim to the philosopher their futility! Do they 
not teach us that religion is no subject for instruction, 
and no subject for discussion^ Will they not convince 
us that as beyond the horizon of our observation we 
can know nothing, so within that horizon is the only 

safe ground for us to meet in public ? Every day we 

see sects splitting, creeds new modelling, and men for- 
saking old opinions only to quarrel about their oppo- 
sites. 1 see three Gods in one, says the Trinitarian, and 
excommunicates the Socinian, who sees a God-head in 
unity. I see a heaven but no hell, says the Universal- 
ist, and disowns fellowship with such as may distin- 
guish less. £ I see a heaven and hell also, beyond 
the stars, 7 said lately the Orthodox friend, and expelled 
his shorter-sighted brethren fiom the sanctuary. I seek 
them both in the heart of man, said the more spiritual 
follower of Penn, and straightway builded him up an- 
other temple, in which to quarrel with his neighbor, 
who perhaps only employs other words to express the 
same ideas. For myself, pretending to no insight into 
these mysteries, possessing no means of intercourse 
with the inhabitants of other worlds, confessing my 
absolute incapacity to see either as far back as a first 
cause, or as far forward as a last one, I am content to 



196 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



state to you, ray iellow creatures, that all my studies, 
reading, reflection, and observation, have obtained tor 
me no knowledge beyond the sphere of our planet, our 
earthly interests and our earthly duties; and that I 
more than doubt whether, should you expend all your 
time and all your treasure in the search, you will be 
able to acquire a:iy better information respecting un- 
seen worlds and future events than myself/"' 

The philosophical romance, "A Few Days in Athens," 
though ihe first of Miss Wright's works, and written 
when she was very young, displays considerable pow- 
er and eloquence. It is the moM pleasing of all her 
writings. It is intended to portray the doctrines of Epi- 
curus, and gives a picture of the Gargettian, in the 
u Gardens of the Academy," surrounded by his pupils, 
calculated to counteract many of the popular and erro- 
neous notions entertained of that philosopher's teach- 
ings. The following dialogue between Epicurus and 
his favorite, Theon, will afToid the readers of the " Half- 
Hours" an opportunity of judging how far Miss Wright 
has conveyed a truthful idea of Epicurus's ethical 
philosophy : — 

" On leaving you, last night," said Theon, " I en- 
countered Cleanthes. He came from the perusal of 
your writings, and brought charges against them which 
I was unprepared to answer." 

" Let us hear them, my son ) perhaps, until you shall 
have perused them yourself, we may assist your diffi- 
culty. 77 

" First, that they deny the existence of the Gods." 

" I see but one other assertion that couid equal that 
in folly," said Epicurus. 

u I knew it," exclaimed Theon, triumphantly; ".I 
knew it was impossible. But where will not prejudice 
lead men, when even the upright Cleanthes is capable 
of slander 1 " 

" He is utterly incapable of it," said the Master ; 
" and the inaccuracy, in this case, I rather suspect to 
rest with you than with him. To deny the existence of 



FRANCES WRIGHT d'aRUSMOKT. 



197 



the Gods would indeed be presumption in a philoso- 
pher ; a presumption equalled only by that of him who 
should assert their existence." 

" How ! 77 exclaimed the youth, with a countenance 
in which astonishment seemed to suspend every other 
expression. 

" As I never saw the Gods, my son, 77 calmly contin- 
ued the Sage, u 1 cannot assert their existence ; and, 
that 1 never saw them, is no reason for my denying it." 

" But do we believe nothing except that of which 
we have ocular demonstration V 9) 

" Nothing, at least, for which we have not the evi- 
dence of one or more of our senses j that is, when we 
believe on just grounds, which I grant, taking men col- 
lectively, is very seldom. 77 

" But where would this spirit lead usl To impiety ! 
— to x\theism ! — to all, against which I felt confidence 
in defending the character and philosophy of Epicu- 
rus ! 77 ~ 

e< We will examine presently, my son, into the mean- 
ing of the terms you have employed. When you first 
entered the Garden your mind was unfit for the exam- 
ination of the subjeci you have now started : it is no 
longer so ; and we will therefore enter upon the inqui- 
ry, and pursue it in order." 

" Forgive me if I express — if I acknowledge,' 7 said 
the youth, slightly recoiling from his instructor, " some 
reluctance to enter on the discussion of truths, whose 
very discussion would seem to argue a doubt, and 77 — 

" And what then ? 77 

" That very doubt were a crime. 77 

ci If the doubt of any truth shall constitute a crime, 
then the belief of the same truth should constitute a 
virtue. 77 

" Perhaps a duty would rather express it! 77 
" When you charge the neglect of any duty as crime, 
or account its fulfilment a virtue, you suppose the ex- 
istence of a power to neglect or fulfil ; and it is the 
exercise of this power, in the one way or the other. 
17* 



198 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



which constitutes the merit or demerit. Is it not so V 
" Certainly/' 7 

" Does the human mind possess the power to believe 
or disbelieve, at pleasure, any truths whatsoever] " 

" T am not prepared to answer: but I think it does, 
since it possesses always the power of investigation." 

" But. possibly, not the will to exercise the power. 
Take care lest I beat you with your own weapons. I 
thought this very investigation appeared to you a 
crime V 

" Your logic is too subtle," said the youth, " for my 
inexperience." 

" Say, raiher, my reasoning too close. Did I bear 
you down with sounding words and weighty authori- 
ties, and confound your understanding with hair-drawn 
distinctions, you would be right to retreat from the bat- 
tery." 

" I have nothing to object to the fairness of your de- 
ductions," said Theon. " But would not the doctrine 
be dangerous that should establish our inability to help 
our belief ; and might we not stretch the principle, un- 
til we asserted our inability to help our actions 

" We might, and with reason. But we will not now 
traverse the ethical pons asinorum of necessity — the 
most simple and evident of moral truths, and the most 
darkened, tortured, and belabored by moral teachers. 
You inquire if the doctrine we have essayed to estab- 
lish, be not dangerous. I reply — not, if it be true. — 
Nothing is so dangerous as error — nothing so safe as 
truth. A dangerous truth would be a contradiction in 
terms, and an anomaly in things." 

" But what is a truth ? " said Theon. 

" It is pertinently asked. A truth 1 consider to be 
an ascertained fact; which truth would be changed to 
an error, the moment the fact, on which it rested, was 
disproved." 

" I see, then, no fixed basis for truth." 

"It surely has the most fixed of all — the nature of 
things. And it is only an imperfect insight into tha** 



FRANCES WRIGHT d'aRUSMONT. 



199 



nature which occasions all our erroneous conclusions, 
whether in physics or morals." 

" But where, if we discard the Gods and their will, 
as engraven on our hearts, are our guides in the search 
after truth 1 " 

" Our senses and our faculties as developed in and 
by the exercise of our senses, are the only guides with 
which I am acquainted. And I do riot see why, even 
admitting a belief in the Gods, and in a superintending 
Providence, the senses should not be viewed as the 
guides provided by them, for our direction and instruc- 
tion. But here is the evil attendant on an ungrounded 
belief, whatever be its nature. The moment we take 
one thing for granted, we take other things for grant- 
ed ; we are started in a wrong road, and it is seldom 
that we gain the right one, until we have trodden back 
our steps to the starting place. I know but of one thing 
that a philosopher should take for granted j and that 
only because he is forced to it by an irresistible impulse 
of his nature j and because, without doing so, neither 
truth nor falsehood could exist for him. He must take 
for granted the evidence of his senses • in other words, 
he must believe in the existence of things, as they ex- 
ist to his senses. I know of no other existence, and 
can therefore believe in no other : although, reasoning 
from analogy, I may imagine other existences to be. — 
This, for instance, I do as respects the Gods. 1 see 
around me, in the world I inhabit, an infinite variety in 
the arrangement of matter — a multitude of sentient 
beings, possessing different kinds and varying grades 
of power and intelligence — from the worm that crawls 
in the dust, to the eagle that soars to the sun, and man 
who marks to the sun its course. It is possible, it is 
moreover probable, that, in the worlds which 1 see not 
— in the boundless infinitude and eternal duration of 
matter, beings may exist, of every countless variety, 
and varying grades of intelligence, inferior and superi- 
or to our own, until we descend to a minimum and rise 
to a maximum, to which the range of our observation 
affords no parallel, and of which our senses are inade- 



200 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



quate to the conception. Thus far, my young friend, I 
believe in the Gods, or in what you will of existences 
removed from the sphere of my knowledge. That you 
should believe, with positiveness, in one unseen exist- 
ence or another, appears to me no crime, although it 
may appear to me unreasonable ; and so, my doubt of 
the same should appear to you no moral offence, al- 
though you might account it erroneous. I fear to fa- 
tigue your attention, and will, therefore, dismiss, for 
the present, these abstruse subjects. 79 

u But we shall both be amply repaid for their discus- 
sion, if this truth remain with you — that an opinion, 
right or wrong, can never constitute a moral offence, 
nor be in itself a moral obligation. It may be mistak- 
en ; it may involve an absurdity, or a contradiction. — 
It is a truth ; or it is an error : it can never be a crime 
or a virtue." — [Chapter xiv. 

Miss Wright was a poetess, as well as a politician 
and writer on ethics. In her " Fourth of July M ad- 
dress, delivered in the New Harmony Hall, in 1828, in 
commemoration of the American Independence, is the 
following : — 

"Is there a thought can fill the human mind 
More pure, more vast, more generous, more refined 
Than that which guides the enlightened patriot's toil? 
Not he whose view is bounded by his soil — 
Not he whose narrow heart can only shrine 
The land, the people that lie calleth mine — 
Not he who, to set up that land on high, 
Will make whole nations bleed, whole nations die- 
Not he who, calling that land's rights his pride, 
Trampleth the rights of all the earth beside. 
No ! He it is, the just, the generous soul, 
Who owneth brotherhood with either pole, 
Stretches from realm to realm his spacious mind, 
And guards the weal of all the human kind — 
Holds freedom's banner o'er the earth unfuiTd, . 
And stands the guardian patriot of a world ! " 

j. w. 



BIOGRAPHY 



OF 

EPICURUS. 



Epicurean. — One who holds the principles of Epicurus — 

Luxurious, contributing to luxury. 
Epicurism — The principles of Epicurus — Luxury, sensual 

enjoyment, gross pleasure. 

The words with which this page is headed may be 
found in the current and established dictionaries of the 
present day; and it shall be our task to show that nev- 
er was slander more foul, calumny more base, or libel 
more cowardly, than when it associated the words lux- 
ury and sensuality with the memory of the Athenian 
Epicurus. The much-worn anecdote of the brief en- 
dorsed " The Defendant has no case, abuse the Plain- 
tiff's Solicitor," will well apply here. The religionists 
had no case, the Epicurean Philosophy was impregna- 
ble as far as theological attacks were concerned, and 
the theologians have, therefore, constantly and vehem- 
ently abused its founder; so that, at last, children have 
caught the cry as though it were the enunciation ol a 
fact, and have grown into men believing that Epicurus 
was a sort of discriminating hog, who wallowed in the 
filth which some have miscalled pleasure. 

Epicurus was born in the early part of the year 344, 
B. C, the third year of the 109th Olympiad, at Garget- 
tus, in the neighborhood of Athens. His lather, Neo- 
cJeSj was of the Egean tribe. Some allege that Epi- 



202 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



curus was born in the island of Samos ; but, according 
to others, he was takeii there when very young by his 
parents, who formed a portion of a colony of Athenian 
citizens, sent to colonize Samos after its subjugation 
by Pericles. The father and mother of Epicurus were 
in very humble circumstances ; his father was a school- 
master, and his mother, Chaerestrata, acted as a kind 
of priestess, curing diseases, exorcising ghosts, and ex- 
ercising other fabulous powers. Epicurus has been 
charged with sorcery, because he wrote several songs 
for his mother's solemn rites. Until eighteen, he re- 
mained at Samos and the neighboring isle of Teos ; 
frc m whence he removed to Athens, where he resided 
until the death of Alexander, when, disturbances aris- 
ing, he fled to Colophon. This place, Mitylene, and 
Lampsacus, formed the philosopher's residence until 
he was thirty-six years of age j at which time he found 
ed a school in the neighborhood of Athens. He pur 
chased a pleasant garden, where he taught his disci- 
ples until the time of his death. 

We are told by Laertius, " That those disciples who 
were regularly admitted into the school of Epicurus, 
lived together, not in the manner of the Pythagoreans, 
who cast their possessions into a common stock • for 
this, in his opinion, implied mutual distrust rather than 
friendship; but upon such a footing of friendly attach- 
ment, that each individual cheerfully supplied the ne- 
cessities of his brother. " 

The habits of the philosopher and his followers were 
temperate and exceedingly frugal, and formed a strong 
contrast to the luxurious, although refined, manners of 
the Athenians. At the entrance of the garden, the 
visitor of Epicurus found the following inscription : — 
" The hospitable keeper of this mansion, where you 
will find pleasure the highest good, will present you 
with barley cakes and water from the spring. These 
gardeus will not provoke your appetite by artificial 
dainties, but satisfy it with natural supplies. Will you 
not, then, be well entertained V 7 And yet the owner 
of the garden, over the gate of which these words 



EPICURUS. 



203 



were placed, has been called " a glutton ?? and " a 
stomach worshipper ! ' ; 

From the age of thirty-six until his decease, he does 
not seem to have quitted Athens, except temporarily. 
When Demetrius besieged Athens, the Epicureans 
were driven into great difficulties for want of food ; 
and it is said that Epicurus and his friends subsisted 
on a small quantity of beans which he possessed, and 
which he shared equally with them. 

The better to prosecute his studies, Epicurus lived a 
life of celibacy. Temperate and continent himself, he 
taught his followers to be so likewise, both by exam- 
ple and precept. He died 273 B. C, in the seventy- 
third year of his age * and, at that time, his warmest 
opponents seem to have paid the highest, compliments 
to his personal character; and, on reading his life, and 
the detailed accounts of his teachings, it seems difficult 
to imagine what has induced the calumny which has 
been heaped upon his memory. 

We " cannot quote from his own works, in his own 
words, because, although he wrote very much, only a 
summary of his writings has come to us uninjured ) but 
his doctrines have been so fully investigated and treat- 
ed on, both by his opponents and his disciples, that 
there is no difficulty or doubt as to the principles in- 
culcated in the school of Epicurus. 

"The sum of his doctrine concerning philosophy, in 
general, is this : — Philosophy is the exercise of reason 
in the pursuit and attainment of a happy life j whence 
it follows, that those studies which conduce neither to 
the acquisition nor the enjoyment of happiness are to 
be dismissed as of no value. The end of all specula- 
tion ought to be 7 to enable men to judge with certainty 
what is to be chosen, and what to be avoided, to pre- 
serve themselves free from pain, and to secure health 
of body, and tranquillity of mind. True philosophy is 
so useful to every man, that the young should apply to 
it without delay, and the old should never be weary of 
the pursuit; for no man is either too young or too old 
to correct and improve his mind, and to study the art 



204 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



of happiness. Happy are they who possess by nature 
a free and vigorous intellect, and who are born in a 
country where they can prosecute their inquiries with- 
out restraint : for it is philosophy alone which raises a 
man above vain fears and base passions, and gives him 
the perfect command of himself. As nothing ou^ht to 
be dearer to a philosopher than truth, he should pur- 
sue it by the most direct means, devising no fictions 
himself, nor suffering himself to be imposed upon by 
the fictions of others, neither poets, orators, nor logi- 
cians, making no other use of the rules of rhetoric or 
grammar, than to enable him to speak or write with 
accuracy and perspicuity, and always preferring a plain 
and simple to an ornamented style. Whilst >ome doubt 
of everything, and others profess to acknowledge every- 
thing, a wise man will embrace such tenets, and only 
such as are built upon experience, or upon certain and 
indisputable axioms."' 

The following is a summary of his Moral Philoso- 
phy :— 

u The end of living, or the ultimate good, which is 
to be sought for its own sake, according to the univer- 
sal opinion of mankind, is happiness; yet men, for the 
most part, fail in the pursuit of this end, either because 
they do not form a right idea of the nature of happi- 
ness, or because they do not make use of proper means 
to attain it. Since it is every man's interest to be hap- 
py through the whole of life, it is the wisdom of every 
one to employ philosophy in the search of felicity with- 
out delay ; and there cannot be a greater folly, than to 
be always beginning to live. 

" The happiness which belongs to man, is that state 
in which he enjoys as many of the good things, and 
suffers as few of the evils incident to human nature as 
possible ; passing his days in a smooth ccurse of per- 
manent tranquillity. A wise man, though deprived of 
sight or hearing, may experience happiness in the en- 
joyment of the good things wnich yet remain ; and 
when suffering torture, or laboring under some painful 
disease, can mitigate the anguish by patience, and can 



EPICURUS. 



205 



enjoy, in his afflictions, the consciousness of his own 
constancy. But it is impos^ble that perfect happiness 
can be possessed without the pleasure which attends 
freedom from pain, and the enjoyment of the good 
things of life. Pleasure is in its nature good, as pain 
is in its nature evil • the one is, therefore, to be pur- 
sued,. and the other to be avoided, for its own sake. — 
Pleasure, or pain, is not only good, or evil, in itself, 
but the measure of what is good or evil, in every ob- 
ject of desire or aversion j for the ultimate reason why 
we pursue one thing, and avoid another, is because we 
expect pleasure from the former, and apprehend pain 
from the latter. If we sometimes decline a present 
pleasure, it is not because we are averse to pleasure it- 
self, but because we conceive, that in the present in- 
stance, it will be necessarily connected with a greater 
pain. In like manner, if we sometimes voluntarily 
submit to a present pain, it is because we judge that 
it is necessarily connected with a greater pleasure. — ■ 
Although all pleasure is essentially good, and all pain 
essentially evil, it doth not thence necessaiily follow, 
that in every single instance the one ought to be pur- 
sued, and the other to be avoided j but reason is to be 
employed in distinguishing and comparing the nature 
and degrees of each, that the result may be a wise 
choice of that which shall appear to be, upon the 
whole, good. That pleasure is the first good, appears 
from the inclination which every animal, from its first 
birth, discovers to pursue pleasure, and avoid pain ; 
and is confirmed by the universal experience of man- 
kind, who are incited to action by no other principle 
than the desire of avoiding pain, or obtaining pleasure. 

" There are two kinds of pleasure : one consisting in 
a state of rest, in which both body and mind are undis- 
turbed by any kind of pain ) the other arising from an 
agreeable agitation of the senses, producing a corres- 
pondent emotion in the soul. It is upon the former of 
these that the enjoyment of life chiefly depends. Hap- 
piness may therefore be said to consist in bodily ease, 
and mental tranquillity. When pleasure is asserted to 
18 



206 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



be the end of living, we are not then to understand 
that violent kind of delight or joy which arises from 
the gratification of the senses and passions, but rneiely 
that placid state of mind, which results from the ab- 
sence of every cause of pain or uneasiness. Those 
pleasures, which arise from agitation, are not to be pur- 
sued as in themselves the end of living, but as means 
of arriving at that stable tranquillity, in which true 
happiness consists. It is the office of reason to confine 
the pursuit of pleasure within the limits of nature, in 
order to the attainment of that happy state, in which 
the body is free from every kind of pain, and the mind 
from all perturbation. This state must not, however, 
be conceived to be perfect in proportion as it is inactive 
and torpid, but in proportion as all the functions of life 
are quietly and pleasantly performed. A happy life 
neither resembles a rapid torrent, nor a standing pool, 
but is like a gentle stream, that glides smoothly and 
silently along. 

u This happy state can only be obtained by a pru- 
dent care of the body, and a steady government of the 
mind. The diseases of the body are to be prevented 
by temperance, or cured by medicine, or rendered tol- 
erable by patience. Against the diseases of the mind, 
philosophy provides sufficient antidotes. The instru- 
ments which it employs for this purpose are the vir- 
tues; the root of which, whence all the rest proceed, 
is prudence. This virtue comprehends the whole ait 
of living discreetly, justly, and honorably, and is, in 
fact, the same thing with wisdom. It instructs men to 
free their understandings from the clouds of prejudice; 
to exeicise temperance and fortitude in the govern- 
ment of themselves ; and to practice justice towards 
others. Although pleasure, or happiness, which is the 
end of living, be superior to virtue, which is only the 
means, it is every one's interest to practice all the vir- 
tues ; for in a happy life, pleasure can never be separ- 
ated from virtue. 

" A prudent man, in order to secure his tranquillity, 
will consult his natural disposition in the choice of his 



EPICURUS. 



207 



plan of life. If, for example, he be persuaded that he 
should be happier in a state of marriage than in celi- 
bacy, he ought to marry ; but if he be convinced that 
matrimony would be an impediment to his happiness, 
he ought to remain single. In like manner, such per- 
sons as are naturally active, enterprising, and ambi- 
tious, or such as by the condition of their birth are 
placed in the way of civil offices, should accommodate 
themselves to their nature and situation, by engaging 
in public affairs; while such as are, from natural tem- 
per, fond of leisure and retirement, or, from experi- 
ence or observation, are convinced that a life of public 
business would be inconsistent with their happiness, 
are unquestionably at liberty, except where particular 
circumstances call them to the service of their coun- 
try, to pass their lives in obscure repose. 

" Temperance is that discreet regulation of the de- 
sires and passions, by which we are enabled to enjoy 
pleasures without suffering any consequent inconven- 
ience. They who maintain such a constant self-com- 
mand, as never to be enticed by the prospect of pres- 
ent indulgence, to do that which will be productive of 
evil, obtaiii the truest pleasure by declining pleasure. 
Since, of desires some are natural and necessary; oth- 
ers natural, but not necessary ; and others neither nat- 
ural nor necessary, but the offspring of false judgment; 
it must be tiie office of temperance to gratily the first 
class, as far as nature requires : to restrain the second 
within the bounds of moderation ; and, as to the third, 
resolutely to oppose, and, if possible, entirely repress 
them. 

" Sobriety, as opposed to inebriety and gluttony, is 
of admirable use in teaching men that nature is satis- 
fied with a little, and enabling them to content them- 
selves with simple and frugal fare. Such a manner of 
living is conducive to the preservation of health ; ren- 
ders a man alert and active in all the offices of life ; 
affords him an exqu*site relish of the occasional varie- 
ties of a plentiful board, and prepares him to meet 
every reverse of fortune without the fear oi want. 



208 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



" Continence is a branch of temperance, which pre- 
vents the diseases, infamy, remorse, and punishment, 
to which those are exposed, who indulge themselves 
in unlawful amours. Music and poetry, which are 
often employed as incentives to licentious pleasure 
are to be cautiously and sparingly used. 

" Gentleness, as opposed to an irrascible tempe% 
greatly contributes to the tranquillity and happiness Oi 
life, by preserving the mind from perturbation, and 
arming it against the assaults of calumny and malice. 
A wise man, who puts himself under .the government 
of reason, will be able to receive an injury with calm- 
nese, and to treat the person who committed it with 
lenity- for he will rank injuries among the casual 
events of life, and will prudently reflect that he cau 
no more stop the natural current of human passions, 
than he can curb the stormy winds. Refractory ser- 
vants in a family should be chastised, and disorderly 
members of a state punished without wrath. 

" Moderation, in the pursuit of honors or riches, is 
the only security against disappointment and vexation. 
A wise man, therefore, will prefer the simplicity of 
rustic life to the magnificence of courts. Future events 
a wise man will consider as uncertain, and will, there- 
fore, neither suffer himself to be elated with confident 
expectation, nor to be depressed by doubt and despair • 
for both are equally destructive of tranquillity. It will 
contribute to the enjoyment of life, to consider death 
as the perfect termination of a happy life, which it be- 
comes us to close like satisfied guests, neither regret- 
\ng the past, nor anxious for the future. 

u Fortitude, the virtue which enables us to endure 
pain, and to banish fear, is of great use in producing 
tranquillity. Philosophy instructs us to pay homage to 
the gods, not through hope or fear, but from veneration 
of their superior nature. It moreover enables us to con- 
quer the fear of death, by teaching us that it is no 
proper object of terror; since, whilst we are, death is 
not, and when death arrives, we are not : so that it 
neither concerns the living nor the dead. The only 



EPICURUS. 



209 



evils to be apprehended are bodily pain, and distress 
of mind. Bodily pain it becomes a wise man to en- 
dure with patience and firmness; because, if it be 
slight, it may easily be borne ; and if it be intense, it 
cannot last long. Mpntal distress commonly arises, 
not from nature, but from opinion ; a wise man will 
therefore arm himself against this kind of suffering, by 
reflecting that the gifts of fortune, the loss of which he 
may be inclined to deplore, were never his own, but 
depended upon circumstances which he could not com- 
mand. If, therefore, they happen to leave him, he 
will endeavor, as soon as possible, to obliterate the re- 
membrance of them, by occupying his mind in pleas- 
ant contemplation, and engaging in agreeable avoca- 
tions. 

" Justice respects man as living in society, and is 
the common bond without which no society can sub- 
sist. This virtue, like the rest, derives its value from 
its tendency to promote the happiness of life. Not 
only is it never injurious to the man who practices it, 
but nourishes in his mind calm reflections and pleasant 
hopes ,* whereas it is impossible that the mind in which 
injustice dwells, should not be full of disquietude. — 
Since it is impossible that iniquitous actions should 
promote the enjoyment of life, as much as remorse of 
conscience, legal penalties, and public disgrace, must 
increase its troubles, every one who follows the dic- 
tates of sound reason, will practice the virtues of jus- 
tice, equity, and fidelity. In society, the necessity of 
the mutual exercise of justice, in order to the common 
enjoyment of the gifts of nature, is the ground of those 
laws by which it is prescribed. It is the interest of 
every individual in a state to conform -to the laws of 
justice ■ for by injuring no one, and rendering to every 
man his due, he contributes his part towards the pre- 
servation of that society, upon the perpetuity of which 
his own safety depends. Nor ought any one to think 
that he is at liberty to violate the rights of his fellow 
citizens, provided he can do it securely ) for he who 
has committed an unjust action can never be certain 
18* 



210 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



that it will not be discovered • and however success- 
fully he may conceal it from others, this will avail him 
little, since he cannot conceal it from himself. In dif- 
ferent communities, different laws may be instituted, 
according to the circumstances of the people who com- 
pose them. Whatever is thus prescribed is to be con- 
sidered as a rule of justice, so lung as the society shall 
judge the observance of it to be for the benefit of the 
whole. But whenever any rule of conduct is found 
upon experience not to be conducive to the public 
good, being no longer useful, it should no longer be 
prescribed. 

" Nearly . allied to justice are the virtues of benefi- 
cence, compassion, gratitude, piety, and friendship. — 
He who confers benefits upon others, procures to him- 
self the satisfaction of seeing the stream of plenty 
spreading around him from the fountain of his benefi- 
cence; at the same time, he enjoys the pleasure of be- 
ing esteemed by others. The exercise of gratitude, 
filial affection, and reverence for the gods, is necessa- 
ry, in order to avoid the hatred and contempt of all 
men. Friendships are contracted for the sake of mu- 
tual benefit ; but by degrees they ripen into such dis- 
interested attachment, that they are continued without 
any prospect of advantage. Between friends there is 
a kind of league, that each will love the other as him- 
self. A true friend will partake of the wants and sor- 
rows of his friend, as if they were his own ; if he be 
in want, he will relieve him; if he be in prison, he 
will visit him ; if he be sick, he will come to him ; nay, 
situations may occur, in which he would not scruple 
to die for him. It cannot then be doubled, that friend- 
ship is one of the most useful means of procuring a 
secure, tranquil, and happy life." 

No man will, we think, find anything in the forego- 
ing summary to justify the foul language used against 
Epicurus, and his moral philosophy ; the secret is in 
the physical doctrines, and this secret is, that Epicu- 
rus was actually, if not intentionally, an Atheist. The 
following is a summary of his physical doctrine : — 



EPICURUS. 



211 



u Nothing can ever spring from nothing, nor can any- 
thing ever return to nothing. The universe always ex- 
isted, and will always remain j for there is nothing into 
which it can be changed. There is nothing in Nature, 
nor can anything be conceived, besides body and space. 
Body is that which possesses the properties of bulk, 
figure, resistance, and gravity: il is this alone which 
can touch or be touched. Space is the region which 
is, or may be, occupied by body, and which affords it 
an opportunity of moving freely. That there are bod- 
ies in the universe is attested by the senses. That 
there is also space is evident; since otherwise bodies 
would have no place in which to move or exist, and of 
their existence and motion we have the certain proof 
of perception. Besides these, no third nature can be 
conceived; for such. a nature must either have bulk 
and solidity, or want them ; that is, it must either be 
body or space : this does not, however, preclude the 
existence of qualities, w T hich have no subsistence but 
in the body to which they belong. 

" The universe, consisting of body and space, is infi- 
nite, for it has no limits. Bodies are infinite in multi- 
tude ; space is infinite in magnitude. The term above, 
or beneath, high or low. cannot be properly applied to 
infinite space. The universe is to be conceived as im- 
moveable, since beyond it there is no place into which 
it can move ; and as eternal and immutable, since it is 
neither liable to increase nor decrease, to production 
nor decay. Nevertheless, the parts of the universe are 
in motion, and are subject to change. 

u All bodies consist of parts, of which they are com- 
posed, and into which they maybe resolved ; and these 
parts are either themselves simple principles, or may 
be resolved into such. These first principles, or simple 
atoms, are divisible by no force, and, therefore, must 
be immutable. This may also be inferred from the uni- 
formity of Nature, which could not be preserved if it* 
principles were not certain and consistent. The exist- 
ence of such atoms is evident, since it is impossible 
that anything which exists should be reduced to noth- 



212 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



ing. A finite body cannot consist of parts infinite, 
either in magnitude or number; divisibility of bodies 
ad infinitum, is therefore conceivable. All atoms are of 
the same nature, or differ in no essential qualities — 
From their different effects upon the senses, it appears, 
however, that they differ in magnitude, figure, and 
weight. Atoms exist in every possible variety of fig- 
ure — round, oval, conical, cubical, sharp, hooked, etc. 
But in every shape, they are, on account of their solid- 
ity, infrangible, or incapable of actual division. 

" Gravity must bean essential property of atoms; 
for since they are perpetually in motion, or making an 
effort to move, they must be moved by an internal im- 
pulse, which may be called gravity. 

" The principle of gravity, that internal energy which 
is the cause of all motion, whether simple or complex, 
being essential to the primary corpuscles or atoms, they 
must have been incessantly and from eternity in actual 
motion. 77 

Epicurus, who boasts that he was an inquirer and a 
philosopher in his thirteenth year, was scarcely likely 
to bow his mind to the mythology of his country. The 
man who, when he was but a schoolboy, insisted upon 
an answer to the question, "Whence came chaos V 7 
could hardly be expected to receive as admitted facts 
the fabulous legends as to Jupiter and the other gods. 
His theology is, however, in some respects, obscure, 
and unintelligible; for while he zealously opposed the 
popular fables, which men misname God-ideas, he at 
the same time admitted the existence of material gods, 
whom he placed in the intervals between the infinite 
worlds, where they passed a life undisturbed by aught, 
and enjoyed a happiness w T hich does not admit of aug- 
mentation. These inactive gods play a strange part in 
the system of Epicurus; and it is asserted by many 
that these extraordinary conceptions of Deity were put 
forward by the philosopher to screen him from the con- 
sequences attaching to a charge of Atheism. Dr. Hein- 
rich Hitter, who does not seem very friendly disposed 
towards Epicurus, or his philosophy, repudiates this no- 



EPICURUS. 



213 



tion, and argues Epicurus was not in truth an Atheist, 
and alleges that it was a mere pretence on his part • 
and that from his very theory of knowledge the exist- 
ence of gods could be deduced. This has been much 
litigated, (vide Electric Review for 1806, p. 606.) It 
is quite evident that Epicurus neither regarded " the 
gods " in the capacity of Creators, controllers, or rul- 
ers, so that his Theism (if it be Theism) was not of a 
very superstitious character. The God who neither 
created man, nor exercised any influence whatever 
over his actions or thinkings, could have but little to 
do with man at all. 

If we attempt to review the whole of the teachings 
of Epicurus, we find they are defective and imperfect 
in many respects, and necessarily so. We say neces- 
sarily so, because the imperfect science of the day lim 
ited the array of facts presented to the philosopher, and 
narrowed the base upon which he was to erect his sys- 
tem. We must expect, therefore, to find the structure 
weak in many points, because if was too large for the 
foundation ; but we are not, therefore, to pass it on one 
side, and without farther notice • it should rather be our 
task to lay good, wide, and sure foundations, on which 
to build up a system, and develope a method, really 
having, for its end, the happiness of mankind. We 
live 2000 years later than the Athenian philosopher. — 
In those 2000 years many facts have been dragged out 
of " the circle of the unknown and unused." Astron- 
omy, geology, physiology, psychology — ail except the- 
ology are better understood. Men pretend they are 
searching after happiness, and where do they try to 
find it 1 Not here amongst the known, but in the pos- 
sible hereafter amongst the unknowable. How do they 
try to find it? Not by the aid of the known, not by 
the light of facts, gathered in years of toil, and sancti- 
fied by the blood of some of the noblest of truth's no- 
ble martyrs* no — but in the darkness of the unknown 
and unknowable : in the next world. Question the men 
who fly to theology for happiness, and they will tell 
you that the most learned of the theologians sum up 



214 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



their knowledge in the word " incomprehensible." Is 

it wonderful that their happiness is somewhat marred 
' : here " by quarrels as to the true definition of " here- 
after V G. H. Lewes says, of the Epicurean philoso- 
phy, " that the attempt failed because the basis was 
not broad enough. The Epicureans are therefore to be 
regarded as men who ventured on a great problem, and 
failed because they only saw part of the truth.' 7 And 
we might add that Christianity, and every other relig- 
ious " anity," fails, because the professors expect to 
obtain happiness in the next life, and neglect to work 
for it in the present one. 

Epicurus says, no life can be pleasant except a vir- 
tuous life; and he charges you to avoid whatever may 
be calculated to create disquiet in the mind, or give 
pain to the body. The Rev. Habbakuk Smilenot, of 
Little Bethel, says that all .pleasure here, is vanity and 
vexation in the hereafter; and he charges you to con- 
tinually worry and harrass your mind with fears that 
you may be condemned to hell, and doubts whether 
you will be permitted to enter heaven. Which is the 
best, the philosophy of Epicurus, or the theology of 
Smilenot l 

G. H. Lewes says : — " Epicureanism, in leading man 
to a correct appreciation of the moral end of his exist- 
ence, in showing him how to be truly happy, has to 
combat with many obstructions which hide from him 
the real road of life. These obstructions are his illu- 
sions, his prejudices, his errors, his ignorance. This 
ignorance is of two kinds, as Victor Cousin points out ; 
ignorance of the laws of the external world, which cre- 
ates absurd superstitions, and troubles the mind with 
false fears and false hopes. Hence the necessity of 
some knowledge of physics." (We can scarcely blame 
Epicuius that he was not in advance of his time, as far 
as the physical sciences are concerned, and therefore 
imparted an imperfect system of physics. We must, 
with our improved knowledge, ourselves remove the 
obstruction.) " The second kind of ignorance is that 
of the nature of man. Socrates had taught men to re- 



EPICURUS. 



215 



gard their own nature as the great object of investiga- 
tion • and this lesson Epicurus willingly gave ear to. — 
But man does not interrogate his own nature out of 
simple curiosity, or simple erudition ; he studies his 
nature in order that he may improve it; he learns the 
extent of his capacities, in order that he may properly 
direct them. The aim, therefore, of all such inquiries 
must be happiness.' 7 

We may add that the result of all such inquiries 
will be happiness, if the inquirer will but base his in- 
vestigation and experiments upon facts. 

Let him understand that, as he improves the circum- 
stances which surround him, so will he advance him- 
self, becoming happier, and making his fellows happy 
also. Remember the words of Epicurus, and seek that 
pleasure for yourself which appears the most durable, 
and attended with the greatest pleasure to your fel- 
low men. " I." 



BIOGRAPHY 

OJ 

ZENO, THE STOIC. 



In the previous number we gave a short sketch of 
the opinions of Epicurus. In this we shall deal with 
the founder of a rival sect — the Stoics. Amongst the 
disciples and students in the Stoic schools have been 
many illustrious names, and not the least worthy is the 
name with which we are now dealing. 

Zeno was born at Cittius, a small maritime town in 
the Island of Cyprus. This place having been original- 
ly peopled by a colony of Phoenicians, Zeno is some- 
times called a Phoenician j but at the period when he 
flourished, it was chiefly inhabited by Greeks. The 
date of his birth is unceitain, but must have been 
about the year B. C. 362. His father was a merchant, 
and Zeno appears to have been, in the early part of 
his life, engaged in mercantile pursuits. He received 
a very liberal education from his father, whom, we 
are told, perceived in his son a strong inclination for 
philosophical studies, and who purchased for Zeno the 
writings of the Socratic philosophers • which were 
studied with avidity, and which undoubtedly exercis- 
ed a considerable influence over his future thinkings. 
When about thirty years of age he made a trading 
voyage from Cittius to Athens, with a very valuable 
cargo of Phoenician purple, but was unfortunately ship- 
wrecked on the coast of Greece, and the whole of his 
19 



218 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



freight destroyed. It is supposed that this severe loss, 
which must have considerably reduced his means, 
materially influenced Zeno, and induced him to em- 
brace the tenets of the Cynics, whose leading princi- 
ple was a chntempt of riches. We are told that upon 
his first arrival in Athens, he went into the shop of a 
bookseller, and took up, by accident, a volume of the 
" Commentaries of Xenophon. ;? Alter reading a few 
pages, Zeno was so much delighted with the work, 
that he asked the bookseller to direct him where he 
might meet such men as the author? Crates, the 
Cynic philosopher, passed by at the time, and the 
bookseller said, " Foilow that man ! 7? He did so, and 
after listening to several of his discourses, was so 
pleased with the doctrines of the Cynics, that he be- 
came a disciple. He did not long remain attached to 
the Cynic school — their peculiar manners were too 
gross for him; and his energetic and inquiring mind 
was too much cramped by that indifference to all sci- 
entific investigation which was one of their leading 
characteristics. He therefore sought instruction else- 
where, and Stilpo, of Megara, became his teacher, from 
whom he acquired the art of disputation, in which he 
afterwards became so proficient. The Cynics were 
displeased at his following other philosophy, and we 
are told that Crates attempted to drag him by force 
out of the school of Stilpo, on which Zeno said, " You 
may seize my body, but Stilpo has laid hold of my 
miud. ?; The Megaric doctrine was, however, insuffi- 
cient. Zeno was willing to learn all that Stilpo could 
teach, but having learned all, his restless and insatia- 
ble appetite for knowledge required more, and after 
an attendance of several years upon the 'ectures of 
Stilpo, he passed over to the expositors of Plato, Xeno- 
crates, and Polemo. The latter philosopher appears 
to have penetrated Zeno's design in attending the va- 
rious schools — i. e.j to collect materials from various 
quarters for a new system of his own \ and when he 
came to the school, "Polemo said, "I am no stranger, 
Zeno, to your Phoenician arts ; I perceive that your 



ZENO, THE STOIC, 



219 



design is to creep slily into my garden, and steal 
away my fruit. ' ? After twenty years of study, having 
mastered the tenets of the various schools, Zeno deter- 
mined to become the founder of a sect himself, In ac- 
cordance with this determination, he opened a school 
in a public portico, called the Painted Porch, from the 
pictures of Polygnotus, and other eminent painters, 
with which it w T as adorned. This portico became 
famous in Athens, and was called (Stoa) — the Porch. 
From this Stoa the school derived its name, the stu- 
dents being called the Stoics. Zeno was a subtle 
reasoner, and exceedingly popular. He taught a strict 
system of morals, and exhibited a pleasing picture of 
moral discipline in his own life. As a man, his char- 
acter appears deserving of the highest respect. He 
became exceedingly respected and revered at Athens, 
for the probity and severity of his life and manners, 
and consistency thereof with his doctrine. He possess- 
ed so large a share of public esteem that the Athe- 
nians decreed him a golden crown, and on account of 
his approved integrity, deposited the keys of their cit- 
adel in his hands. Antigonus Gonates, King of Mace- 
don, was a constant attendant at his lectures whilst at 
Athens, and when that monarch returned, he earnest- 
ly invited Zeno to his court. During the philosopher's 
lifetime, the Athenians erected a statue of brass as a 
mark of the estimation in which they held him. 

Zeno lived to the extreme age of ninety-eight, when, 
as he was leaving his school one day, he fell and broke 
his finger. The consciousness of his infirmity afflicted 
him so much, that he exclaimed, " Why am I thus 
importuned 1 Earth, I obey thy summons ! " and im- 
mediately going home, he put his affairs in order, and 
strangled himself. In person, Zeno was tall and slen- 
der; his brow was furrowed with thought ■ and this, 
with his long and close application to study, gave a 
tinge of severity to his aspect. Although of a feeble 
constitution, he preserved his health by his great ab- 
stemiousness, his diet consisting of figs, bread, and 
honey. He was plain and modest in his dress and 



220 BIOGRAPHY OF 

habits and very frugal in all his expenses, showing 
the same respect for the poor as for the rich, and con- 
versing as freely with the slave as he did with the 
king. Independent in spirit, he broke off all com- 
munication with his friend Democharis, because that 
person had offered to procure a gratuity for Zeno from 
the King of Macedon. His system appears to have 
been little more than a collection from his various 
lessons of whatever was most in unison with his pecu- 
liar habit of thought, and an attempt to reconcile and 
combine in one system the various elements of differ- 
ent theories. Taking from so many schools various 
portions of their doctrine, he seems to have provoked 
the antagonism of many of his contemporaries, and 
several philosophers of learning and ability employed 
their eloquence to diminish the growing influence of 
the new 7 school. Towards the close of his life, he 
found a powerful antagonist in the person of Epicurus, 
and the Epicureans and Stoics have since treated each 
other as rival sects. Zeno's school appears to have 
been generally a resort for the poor, and it was a com- 
mon joke amongst his adversaries, that poverty was 
the charm for which he was indebted for his scholars. 
The list of his disciples, however, contains the names 
of some very rich and powerful men, who may have 
regarded the Stoic theory as a powerful connter-agent 
to the growing effeminacy of the age. After Zeno's 
death, the Athenians, at the request of Antigonus, 
erected a monument to his memory, in the Ceram- 
icum. 

From the particulars which have been related con- 
cerning Zeno, it will not be difficult to perceive w T hat 
kind of influence his circumstances and character must 
have had upon his philosophical system. If his doc- 
trines be diligently compared with the history of his 
life, it will appear, that having attended upon many 
eminent preceptors, and being intimately conversant 
with their opinions, he compiled, out of their various 
tenets, an heterogeneous system, on the credit of which 
he assumed to himself the title of the founder of a 



ZENO, THE STOIC. 



221 



new sect The dialectic arts which Zeno learned in 

the school of Diodorus Chrouus, he did not fail to 
apply to the support of his own system, and to com- 
municate to his followers. As to the moral doctrine 
of the Cynic sect, to which Zeno strictly adhered to 
the last, there can be no doubt that he transferred it, 
almost without alloy, into his own school. In morals, 
the principal difference between the Cynics and the 
Stoics was, that the former disdained the cultivation 
of nature, the latter affected to rise above it. On the 
subject of physics, Zeno received his doctrine through 
the channel of the Platonic school, as will fully appear 
from a careful comparison of their respective systems. 
The Stoic philosophy, being in this manner of hete- 
rogeneous origin, it necessarily partook of the several 
systems of which it was composed. The idle quib- 
bles, jejune reasonings, and imposing sophisms, which 
so justly exposed the schools of the dialectic philoso- 
phers to ridicule, found their way into the Porch, 
where much time was wasted, and much ingenuity 
thrown away, upon questions of no importance. Cicero 
censures the Stoics for encouraging in their schools a 
barren kind of disputation, and employing themselves 
in determining trifling questions, in which the dispu- 
tants can have no interest, and which, at the close, 
leave them neither wiser nor better. And that this 
censure, is not, as some modern advocates for Stoicism 
have maintained, a mere calumny, but grounded upon 
fact, sufficiently appears from what is said by the an- 
cients, particularly by Sextus Empiricus, concerning 
the logic of the Stoics. Seneca, who was himself a 
Stoic, candidly acknowledges this. It may, perhaps, 
be thought surprising that philosophers, who affected 
so much gravity and wisdom, should condescend to 
such trifling occupations. But it must be considered, 
that, at this time, a fondness for subtle disputations so 
generally prevailed in Greece, that excellence in the 
arts of reasoning and sophistry was a sure path to fame. 

The Stoics, with whom vanity was unquestionably 
a ruling passion, were ambitious for this kind of repu- 
19* 



222 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



tation. Hence it was that they engaged with so much 
vehemence in verbal contests, and that they largely 
contributed towards the confusion, instead of the im- 
provement, of science, by substituting vague and ill- 
defined terms in the room of accurate conceptions. 
The moral part of the Stoical philosophy, in like man- 
ner, partook of the defects of its origin. It may be as 
justly objected against the Stoics as the Cynics, that 
they assumed an artificial severity of manners, and a 
tone of virtue above the condition of a man. Their 
doctrine of moral wisdom was an ostentatious display 
of words, in which little regard was paid to nature and 
reason. It professed to raise human nature to a degree 
of perfection before unknown ; but its real effect was, 
merely to amuse the ear, and captivate the lancy, 

with fictions which can never be realized The ex- 

tiavagancies and absurdities of the Stoical philosophy 
may also be in some measure ascribed to the vehe- 
ment contests which subsisted between Zeno and the 
Academics on the one hand, and between him and 
Epicurus on the other. For, not only did these dis- 
putes give rise to many of the dogmas of Stoicism, but 
Jed Zeno and his followers, in the warmth of contro- 
versy, to drive their arguments to the utmost extrem- 
ity, and to express themselves with much greater 
confidence than they would probably otherwise have 
done. This is, perhaps, the true reason why so many 
extravagant notions are ascribed to the Stoics, par- 
ticularly upon the subject of morals. Whilst Epicurus 
taught his followers to seek happiness in tranquillity, 
Zeno imagined his wise man, not only free from all 
sense of pleasure, but void of all passions and emo- 
tions, and capable of being happy in the midst of tor- 
ture. That he minht avoid the position taken by the 
Epicureans, he had recourse to a moral institution, 
which bore indeed the lofty front of wisdom, but which 
was elevated far above the condition and powers of 
human nature. The natural disposition of Zeno. and 
his manner of life, had, moreover, no inconsiderable 
influence in fixirg the peculiar character of his phi- 



ZENO, THE STOIC. 



223 



losophy. By nature severe and morose, and constitu- 
tionally inclined to reserve and melancholy, he early 
cherished this habit by submitting to the austere and 
rigid discipline of the Cynics. Those qualities which 
he conceived to be meritorious in himself, and which 
he found to conciliate the admiration of mankind, he 
naturally transferred to his imaginary character of a 
wise or perfect man. 

In order to form an accurate judgment concerning 
the doctrine of the Stoics, besides a careful attention 
to the particulars already enumerated, it will be ne- 
cessary to guard with the utmost caution against two 
errors, into which several writers have fallen. Great 
care should be taken, in the first place, not to judge of 
the doctrine of the Stoics from words and sentiments, 
detached from the general system, but to consider 
them as they stand, related to the whole train of prem- 
ises and conclusions The second caution is, not to 

confound the genuine doctrines of Zeno, and other an- 
cient fathers of this sect, with the glosses of the later 

Stoics Out of the many proofs of this change, which 

might be adduced, we shall select one, which is the 
more worthy of notice, as it has occasioned many dis- 
putes among the learned. The doctrine we mean is 
that concerning fate. This doctrine, according to Zeno 
and Chrysippus, implies an elernal and immutable se- 
ries of causes and effects, within which all events are 
included, and to which the Deity himself is subject: 
whereas, the later Stoics, changing the term fate into 
the Providence of God, discoursed with great plausibil- 
ity on this subject, but still in reality retained the an- 
cient doctrine of universal fate. From this example, 
a judgment may be formed concerning the necessity 
of using some caution, in appealing to the writings of 
Seneca, Antoninus, and Epictetus, as authorities, in 
determining what were the original doctrines of the 
Stoic philosophers. 

Concerning philosophy in general, the doctrine of 
the Stoics was, that wisdom consists in the knowledge 
of things divine and human ; that philosophy is such 



224 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



an exercise of the mind as produces wisdom ; that in 
this exercise consists the nature of virtue ; and conse- 
quently, that virtue is a term of extensive meaning, 
comprehending the right employment of the mind in 
reasoning, in the study of nature, and in morals. The 
wisdom of the Stoics is either progressive, through 
several stages • or perfect, when every weakness is 
subdued, and every error corrected, without the possi- 
bility of a relapse into folly, or vice, or of being again 
enslaved by any passion, or afflicted by any calamity. 
With Socrates and the Cynics, Zeno represented virtue 
as the only true wisdom ; but being disposed to extend 
the pursuits of his wise man into the regions of specu- 
lation and science, he gave, after his usual manner, a 
new signification to an old term, and comprehended 
the exercise of the understanding in the search of 
truth, as well as the government of the appetites and 
passions, under the general term, virtue. The great 
importance of the united exercise of the intellectual 
and active powers of the mind, are thus beautifully as- 
serted by the philosophical emperor : — u Let every one 
endeavor so to think and act, that his contemplative 
and active faculties may at the same time be going on 
towards perfection. His clear conceptions, and certain 
knowledge, will then produce within him an entire 
confidence in himself, unperceived perhaps by others, 
though not affectedly concealed, which will give a 
simplicity and dignity to his character ; for he will at 
all times be able to judge, concerning the several ob- 
jects which come before him, what is their real nature, 
what place they hold in the universe, how long they 
are by nature fitted to last, of what materials they are 
composed, by whom they may be possessed, and who 
is able to bestow them, or take them away." The 
sum of the definitions and rules given by the Stoics 
concerning logic is this : — Logic is either rhetorical or 
dialectic. Rhetorical logic is the art of reasoning and 
discoursing on those subjects which require a diffuse 
kind of declamation. Dialectic is the art of close argu- 
mentation in the form of disputation or dialogue. The 



ZENO ? THE STOIC. 



225 



former resembles an open, the latter, a closed hand. — 
.Rhetoric is of three kinds, deliberative, judicial, and 
demonstrative. The dialectic art is the instrument of 
knowledge, as it enables a man to distinguish truth 
from error, and certainty from bare probability. This 
art considers things as expressed by words, and words 
themselves. External things are perceived by a cer- 
tain impression, made either upon some parts of the 
brain, or upon the percipient faculty, which may be 
called an image, since it is impressed upon the mind, 
like the image of a seal upon wax. 

This image is commonly accompanied with a belief 
of the reality of the thing perceived ; but not necessa- 
rily, since it does not accompany every image, but 
those only which are not attended with any evidence 
of deception. Where only the image is perceived by 
itself, the thing is apprehensible; where it is acknowl- 
edged and approved as the image of some real thing, 
the impression is called apprehension, because the ob- 
ject is apprehended by the mind as a body is grasped 
by the hand. Such apprehension, if it will bear the 
examination of reason, is knowledge ; if it is not ex- 
amined, it is mere opinion ; if it will not bear this ex- 
amination, it is misapprehension. The senses, correct- 
ed by reason, give a faithful report; not by affording a 

Eerfect apprehension of the entire nature of things, 
ut by leaving no room to doubt of their reality. Na- 
ture has furnished us with these apprehensions, as the 
elements of knowledge, whence further conceptions 
are raised in the mind, and a way is opened for the in- 
vestigations of reason. Some images are sensible, or 
received immediately through the senses ; others ra- 
tional, which are perceived only in the mind. These 
latter are called notions, or ideas. Some images are 
probable, to which the mind assents without hesita- 
tion ; others improbable, to which it does not readily 
assent; and others doubtful, where it is not entirely 
perceived, whether they are true or false. True ima- 
ges are those which arise from things really existing, 
and agree with them. False images, or phantasms, 



226 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



are immediately derived from no real object. Images 
are apprehended by immediate perception, through 
the senses, as when we see a man ; consequentially, 
by likeness, as when from a portrait we apprehend the 
original * by composition, as when, by compounding a 
horse and man, we acquire the image of a Centaur; 
by augmentation, as in the image of a Cyclops; or by 
diminution, as in that of a pigmy. Judgment is em- 
ployed either in determining, concerning particular, 
things, or concerning general propositions. In judging 
of things we make use of some one of our senses, as a 
common criterion or measure of apprehension, by which 
we judge whether a thing is, or is not; or whether or 
not it exists with certain properties; or we apply to 
the thing, concerning which a judgment is to be form- 
ed, some artificial measure, as a balance, a rule, etc. 9 
or we call in other peculiar measures to determine 
things not perceptible by the senses. In judging of 
general propositions, we make use of our pre-concep- 
tions, or universal principles, as criteria, or measures 
of judgment. The first impressions from the senses 
produce in the mind an involuntary emotion ; but a 
wise man afterwards deliberately examines them, that 
he may know whether they be true or false, and as- 
sents to, or rejects them, as the evidence which offers 
itself to his understanding appears sufficient or insuffi- 
cient. 4 This assent, or approbation, will indeed be as 
necessarily given, or withheld, according to the ulti- 
mate state of the proofs which are adduced, as the 
scales of a balance will sink or rise, according to the 
weights which are placed upon them ; but while the 
vulgar give immediate credit to the reports of the sen- 
ses, wise men suspend their assent, till they have de- 
liberately examined the nature of things, and careful- 
ly estimated the weight of evidence. The mind of 
man is originally like a blank leaf, wholly without 
characters, but capable of receiving any. The impres- 
sions which are made upon it, by means of the senses, 
remain in the memory, after the objects which occa- 
sioned them are removed ; a succession of these con- 



ZENO, THE STOIC. 



227 



tinued impressions, made by similar objects, produces 
experience j and hence arises permanent notions, opin- 
ions, and knowledge. Even universal principles are 
originally formed by experience from sensible images. 
AJ1 men agree in their common notions or pre-concep- 
tions; disputes only arise concerning the application of 
these to particular cases. 

Let us pass on to the Stoical doctrine concerning na- 
ture. According to Zeno and his followers, there ex- 
isted from eternity a dark and confused chaos, in which 
was contained the first principles of all future beings. 
This chaos being at length arranged, and emerging 
into variable forms, became the world, as it now sub- 
sists. The world, or nature, is'that whole which com- 
prehend* all things, and of which all things are paits 
and members. The universe, though one whole, con- 
tains two principles, distinct from elements, one pas- 
sive, the other active. The passive principle is pure 
matter without qualities* the active principle is rea- 
son, or God. This* is the fundamental doctrine of the 
Stoics concerning nature The Stoical system teach- 
es, that both the active and passive principles in nature 
are corporeal, since whatever acts or suffers must be 
so. The efficient cause, or God, is pure ether, or fire, 
inhabiting the exterior surface of the heavens, where 
every thing which is divine is placed. This ethereal 
substance, or divine fire, comprehends all the vital 
principles by which individual beings are necessarily 
produced, and contains the forms of things, which from 
the highest regions of the universe, are diffused through 
every other part of nature. Seneca, indeed, calls God 
incorporeal reason ; but by this term he can only mean 
to distinguish the divine ethereal substance from gross 
bodies ; for, according to the Stoics, whatever has a 
substantial existence is corporeal ; nothing is incorpo- 
real, except that infinite vacuum which surrounds the 
universe; even mind and voice are corporeal, and, in 
like manner, Deity. Matter, or the passive principle, 
in the Stoical system, is destitute of all qualities, but 
ready to receive any form, inactive, and without mo- 



228 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



tion, unless moved by some external cause. The con 
trary principle, or the ethereal operative fire, being ac- 
tive, and capable of producing all things from matter, 
with consummate skill, according to the forms which 
it contains, although in its nature corporeal, considered 
in opposition to gross and sluggish matter, or to the 
elements, is said to be immaterial and spiritual. For 
want of carefully attending to the preceding distinc- 
tion, some writers have been so far imposed upon, by 
the bold innovations of the Stoics in the use of terms, 
as to inter from the appellations which they sometimes 
apply to the Deity, that they conceived him to be 
strictly and properly incorporeal. The truth appears 
to be, that, as they sometimes spoke of the soul of 
man, a portion of the Divinity, as an exceedingly rare 
and subtle body, and sometimes as a warm or fieiy 
spirit ) so they spoke of the Deity as corporeal, consid- 
ered as distinct from the incorporeal vacuum, or infin- 
ite space ; but as spiritual, considered in opposition to 
gross and inactive matter. They taught, indeed, that 
God is underived, incorruptible, and eternal, possessed 
of intelligence, good and perfect, the efficient cause 
of all the peculiar qualities or forms of things ; and the 
constant preserver and governor of the world • and 
they described the Deity under many noble images, 
and in the most elevated language. The hymn of 
Cleanthes, in particular, is justly admired for the gran- 
deur of its sentiments, and the sublimity of its diction. 
But if in reading these descriptions, we hastily associ- 
ate with them modern conceptions of Deity, and neg- 
lect to recur to the leading principles of the sect, we 
shall be led into fundamental misapprehensions of the 
true doctrine of Stoicism. For according to this sect, 
God and matter are alike underived and eternal, and 
God is the former of the universe in no other sense 
than as he has been the necessary efficient cause, by 
which motion and form have been impressed upon 
matter. 

What notions the Stoics entertained of God suffi- 
ciently appears from the single opinion of his finite na- 



ZENO, THE STOIC. 



229 



ture; an opinion which necessarily followed from the 
notion that he is only a part of a spherical, and there- 
fore a finite universe. On the doctrine of divine provi- 
dence, which was one of the chief points upon which 
the Stoics disputed with the Epicureans, much is writ- 
ten, and with great strength and elegance, by Seneca, 
Epictetus, and other later Stoics. But we are not to 
judge of the genuine and original doctrine of this sect 
from the discourses of writers who had probably cor- 
rupted their language on this subject, by visiting the 
Christian school. The only way to form an accurate 
judgment of their opinions concerning Providence, is 
to compare their popular language upon this head with 
their general system, and explain the former consist- 
ently with the fundamental principles of the latter. — 
If this be fairly done, it will appear that the agency of 
Deity is, according to the Stoics, nothing more than 
the active motion of a celestial ether, or fire, possessed 
of intelligence, which at first gave form to the shape- 
less mass of gross matter, and being always essential- 
ly united to the visible world by the same necessary 
agency, preserves its order and harmony. The Stoic 
idea of Providence is, not that of a being, wholly in- 
dependent of matter, freely directing and governing 
all things, but that of a necessary chain of causes and 
effects, arising from the action of a power, which is 
itself a part of the existence which it regulates, and 
which equally with that existence is subject to the im- 
mutable law of necessity. Providence, in the Stoic 
creed, is only another name for absolute necessity, or 
fate, to which God and matter, or the universe, which 
consists of both, is immutably subject. The rational, 
efficient, and active principle in nature, the Stoics 
called by various names : Nature, Fate, Jupiter, God. 
" What is nature, ?? says Seneca, " but God ; the di- 
vine reason, inherent in the whole universe, and in all 
its parts ? or you may call him, if you please, the au- 
thor of all things. JJ And again : " Whatever appella- 
tions imply celestial power and energy, may be justly 
applied to God ; his names may properly be as numer- 
20 



230 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



ous as his offices." The term nature, when it is at all 
distinguished in the Stoic system from God, denotes 
not a separate agent, but that order of things which is 
necessarily produced by his perpetual agency. Since 
the active principle of nature is comprehended within 
the world, and with matter makes one whole, it neces- 
sarily follows that God penetrates, pervades, and ani- 
mates matter, and the things which are formed from 
i! ; or, in other words, that he is the soul of the uni- 
verse The universe is, according to Zeno and his 

followers, " a sentient and animated being." Nor was 
this a new tenet, but, in some sort, the doctrine of all 

antiquity Pythagoras, Heraclitus, and after these, 

Zeno, taking it for granted that there is no real exist- 
ence which is not corporeal, conceived nature to be 
one whole, consisting of a subtle ether and gross mat- 
ter, the former the active, the latter the passive prin- 
ciple, as essentially united as the soul and body of 
man — that is, they supposed God, with respect to na- 
ture, to be, not a co-existing, but an informing princi- 
ple. 

Concerning the second principle in the universe, 
matter, and concerning the visible world, the doctrine 
of the Stoics is briefly this : — Matter is the first es- 
sence of all things, destitute of, but capable of receiv- 
ing, qualities. Considered universally, it is an eternal 
whole, which neither increases nor decreases. Con- 
sidered with respect to its parts, it is capable of in- 
crease or diminution, of collision and separation, and 
is perpetually changing. Bodies are continually tend- 
ing towards dissolution ; matter always remains the 
same. Matter is not infinite, but finite, being circum- 
scribed by the limits of the world ,* but its parts are 
infinitely divisible. The world is spherical in its form, 
and is surrounded by an infinite vacuum. The action 
of the divine nature upon matter first produced the 
element of moisture, and then the other elements, 
fire, air, and earth, of which all bodies are composed. 
Air and fire have essential levity, or lend towards the 
exterior surface of the world ; earth and water have 



ZENO, THE STOIC. 



231 



e^tntial gravity, or tend towards the centre. All the 
elements are capable of reciprocal conversion • air 
passing into fire, or into water* earth into air and 
water; but there is this essential difference among the 
elements, that fire and air have within themselves a 
principle of motion, while water and earth are merely 

passive The world, including the whole of nature, 

God an'd matter, subsisted from eternity, and will for 
ever subsist; but the present regular frame of nature 
had a beginning, and will have an end. The parts 
tend towards a dissolution, but the whole remains im- 
mutably the same. The world is liable to destruction 
from the prevalence of moisture, or of dryness ; the 
former producing a universal inundation, the latter a 
universal conflagration. These succeed each other in 
nature as regularly as winter and summer. When the 
universal inundation takes place, the whole surface of 
the earth is covered with water, and all animal life is 
destroyed; after which, nature is renewed and subsists 
as before, till the element of fire, becoming prevalent 
in its turn, dries up all the moisture, converts every 
substance into its own nature, and at last, by a uni- 
versal conflagration, reduces the world to its pristine 
state. At this period, ail material forms are lost in 
one chaotic mass : all animated nature is re-united to 
the Deity, and nature again exists in its original form, 
as one whole, consi>ting of God and matter. From 
this chaotic state, however, it again emerges, by the 
energy of the efficient principle, and gods, and men, 
and all the forms of regulated nature, are renewed, 
and to be dissolved and renewed in endless succession. 

The above is collated from Hitter, Enfield, and 
Lewes, as a specimen of one of the earlier phases 
of Freethought. Freethought as then expressed had 
many faults and flaws, but it has grown better every 
day, extending and widening its circle of utterance, 
and we hope that it will continue to do so. " I. 7J 



BIOGRAPHY 

OF 

MATTHEW TINDAL. 



It is easy to mark the progress of the age by recur- 
ring to the history of past Freethinkers. Bishops, es- 
tablished and dissenting, are now repeating the parts 
the old Deists played. They were sadly treated for 
setting the example, modern divines follow with ap- 
plause. Matthew Tindal was an example of this. He 
labored to establish religion on the foundation of Rea- 
son and Nature. It was to be expected that Christians 
would be pleased at efforts which would have no effect 
but to strengthen its foundations. The effort was met 
by reprobation, and resented as an injury. It is but a 
just retaliation that believers should now have to estab- 
lish in vain that evidence they once denounced. 

Matthew Tindal was an English Deistical writer, 
who was born at Beer-Terres, in Devonshire, 1656. — 
His father, it appears, was a clergyman, who held the 
living of Beer-Terres, presented to him by the Univer- 
sity of Cambridge, in the time of the Civil Wars. — 
Young Matthew was educated at Oxford, where at 
twenty-eight he took the degree of LL.D. Matthew 
Tindal, LL.D., was early tossed about by the winds of 
doctrine. First he embraced Romanism : afterwards 
he became a Protestant. Then politics interested him, 
and he engaged in controversy on the side of William 
III. He was appointed Commissioner of a Court for 
20* 



234 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



Trying Foreigners. In 1693 he published an essay on 
the Law of Nations. When fifty-four, in 1710, he en- 
tered so vigorously into theological controversy, arising 
out of Trinitarian criticism, that his marked satire led 
to his books' being condemned by the House of Com- 
mons, and burnt by the hangman. He resented this 
indignity by a spirited attack on the dominant priestly 
party in his " High Church Catechism," and he also 
wrote in defence of philosophical necessity. But his 
most notable work was the performance of his old age, 
his " Christianity as Old as the Creation : or, the Gos- 
pel, a Republication of the Religion of Nature." This 
was produced in his seventy-third year. He was at- 
tacked in Reply by Bishop VVaterland. It is generally 
agreed that in point of good spirit and good temper 
the Bishop was far inferior to the Deist. Dr. Com ers 
Middleton, says Thomas Cooper, in his brief sketch of 
Tindal, appeared in defence of Tindal in a " Letter to 
Dr. VVaterland," whom he condemned for the shallow- 
ness of his answer to Tindal, and boldly and frankly 
admitted that the Freethinker was right in asserting 
that the Jews borrowed some of their ceremonies and 
customs from Egypt ; that allegory was, in some cases, 
employed in the Scriptures, where common readers 
took the relation for fact; and, that the Scriptures are 
not of "absolute and universal inspiration." The fol- 
lowing sentence, w hich will be found in this " Letter " 
of Dr. Conyers Middleton, does honor to his name : — 
" If religion consists in depreciating moral duties and 
depressing natural reason; if the duty of it be to hate 
and persecute for a different way of thinking where the 
best and wisest have never agreed — then, I declare my- 
self an Infidel, and to have no share in that religion." 

Matthew Tindal died at his house in Coldbath Fields, 
of the stone, 1773, aged seventy-seven.^ Rysbrach, 
the famous statuary, took a model of him. 

# Julian Hibhert gives 1656-7 ; Dr. Beard, 1556 ; Thorn- 
as Cooper, 1657, as the year of Tindal's birth. Ail agree 
that he died 1733 — he was therefore seventy-six or seven- 
ty-seven at the time of his death. 



MATTHEW TINDAL. 



235 



Tindal opens his great work thus : — " The author 
makes no apology for writing on a subject of the Jast 
importance; and which, as far as I can find, has no 
where been so fully treated: he builds nothing on a 
thing so uncertain as tradition, which diners in most 
countries; and of which, in all countries, the bulk of 
mankind are incapable of judging; but thinks he has 
laid down such plain and evident rules, as may enable 
men of the meanest capacity, to distinguish, between 
religion and superstition ; and has represented the for- 
mer in every part so beautiful, so amiable, and so 
strongly affecting, that they, who in the least reflect, 
must be highly in love with it ; and easily perceive, 
that their duty and happiness are inseparable." 

The character of the performance will be seen from 
a few of the propositions he maintains : — 

" That God, at alJ times, has given mankind suffi- 
cient means of knowing whatever he requires of them. 

" That the religion of nature consists in observing 
those things, which our reason, by considering the na- 
ture of God and man, and the relation we stand in to 
him, and one another, demonstrates to be our duty ; 
and that those things are plain; and likewise what 
they are. 

" That the perfection and happiness of all rational 
beings, supreme as well as subordinate, consist in liv- 
ing up to the dictates of their nature. 

" That God requires nothing for his own sake ; no, 
not the worship we are to render him, nor the faith we 
are to have in him! 

" That the not adhering to those notions reason dic- 
tates, concerning the nature of God, has been the oc- 
casion of all superstition, and those innumerable mis- 
chiefs, that mankind, on the account of religion, have 
done either to themselves, or one another. 

" The bulk of mankind, by their reason, must be 
able to distinguish between religion and superstition; 
otherwise they can never extricate themselves from 
that superstition they chance to be educated in. ;? 

Tindal deals with the question of the obscurity of 



236 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



Revelation in these terms, sufficiently salient to alarm 
the very proper divines of that day : — 

" Had God. from time to time, spoken to all mankind 
in their several languages, and his words had miracu- 
lously conveyed the same ideas to all persons ; yet he 
could not speak more plainly than he has done by the 
things themselves, and the relation which reason shows 
there is between them. Nay, since it is impossible in 
any book, or books, that a particular rule could be giv- 
en for every case, we must even then have had re- 
course to the light of nature to teach us our duty in 
most cases; especially considering the numberless 
circumstances which attend us, and which, perpetual- 
ly varying, may make the same actions, according as 
men are differently affected by them, either good or 
bad. And I may add, that most of the particular rules 
laid down in the gospel for our direction, are spoken 
after such figurative a manner, that except we jud^e 
of their meaning, not merely by the letter, but by 
what the law ol nature antecedently declares to be 
our duty, they are apt to lead us wrong. And if pre- 
cepts relating to morality are delivered after an ob- 
scure manner, when they might have been delivered 
otherwise ; what reason can you assign for its being 
so, but that infinite wisdom meant to refer us to that 
law for the explaining them I Sufficient instances of 
this nature I shall give you hereafter, though I must 
own, I cannot carry this point so far as a learned di- 
vine, who represents the Scriptures more obscure 
(which one would think impossible) than even the 
fathers. He tells us, ■ that a certain author (viz., 
Fiaccus Ulyricus) has furnished us with pne-and-fifty 
reasons for the obscurity of the Scriptures ; ' adding, 
1 1 think I may truly say that the writing of the pro- 
phets and aposties abound with tropes, and metaphors, 
types, and allegories, parables, and dark speeches* 
and are as much, nay, much more unintelligible in 
many places, than the writings of the ancients/' It 
is well this author, who talks of people being stark Bi- 
ble-mad, stopped here ; and did not with a celebrated 



MATTHEW TIN DAL 



237 



wit* cry, £ The truly illuminated books are the dark- 
est of all.' The writer above mentioned supposes it 
impossible, that God^s will should be fully revealed by 
books; 6 except,' says he, ' it might be said perhaps 
without a figure, that even the world itself could not 
contain the books which should be written/ But with 
submissions this reverend person, I cannot help think- 
ing, but that (such is the divine goodness) God's will 
is so clearly and fully manifested in the Book of Na- 
ture, that he who runs may read it." 

In the next extract we make, we find Tindal quoting 
two striking passages from Lord Shaftesbury, followed 
by an acute vindication of the integrity of the Law of 
Nature over the Scriptures : — 

" Had the heathen distinguished themselves by creeds 
made out of spite to one another, and mutually perse- 
cuted each other about the worship of their gods, they 
would soon have made the number of their votaries as 
few as the gods they worshipped; but we don't find 
(except in Egypt, that mother-land of superstition) that 
they ever quarrelled about their gods ; though their gods 
sometimes quarrelled, and fought about their votaries. 
By the universal liberty that was allowed by the an- 
cients, 1 Matters (as a noble author observes) were so 
balanced, that reason had fair play; learning and sci- 
ence flourished; wonderful was the harmony and tem- 
per which aroSe from these contrarieties. Thus super- 
stition and enthusiasm w T ere mildly treated ; and being 
let alone, they never raged to that degree as to occa- 
sion bloodshed, wars, persecutions, and devastations; 
but a new sort of policy has made us leap the bounds 
of natural humanity, and out of a supernatural charity, 
has taught us the way of plaguing one another most 
devoutly. It has raised an antipathy, that no temporal 
interest could ever do, and entailed on us a mutual 
hatred to all eternity. And savage zeal, with meek 
and pious semblance, works dreadful massacre; and 
for heaven's sake (horrid pretence) makes desolate the 

fDean Swift—" Tale of a Tub." 



238 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



earth. ? And further, Shaftesbury observes, 1 The Jupi- 
ter ot Strangers, was, among the ancients, one of the 
solemn characters of divinity, the peculiar attribute of 
the supreme deity; benign to mankind, and recom- 
mending universal love, mutual kindness, and benig- 
nity between the remotest and most unlike of the hu- 
man race. Such was the ancient heathen charity and 
pious duty towards the whole of mankind ) both those 
of different nations and different worship. ' But, good 
God ! how different a character do bigots give us of 
the Deity, making him an unjust, cruel, and inconsis- 
tent Being; requiring all men to judge for themselves, 
and act according to their consciences ; and yet author- 
izing some among them to judge for others, and lo pun- 
ish them for not acting; according to the consciences of 
those judges, though ever so much against their own. 
These bigots thought they were authorized to punish 
all those that differ with them in their religious wor- 
ship, as God's enemies; but had they considered that 
God alone could discern men's heaits, and alone dis- 
cover whether any, by conscientiously offering him a 
wrong worship, could become his enemies : and that 
infinite wisdom best knew how to proportion the pun- 
ishment to the fault, as well as infinite power how to 
indict it; they would, surely, have left it to God to 
judge for himself, in a cause which immediately relat- 
ed to himself; and where they were not so much as 
parties concerned, and as likely to be mistaken as those 
they would punish. Can one, without horror, think of 
men's breaking through ail the rules of doing as they 
would be done unto, in order to set themselves up for 
standards of truth for God as well as man] Do not 
these impious wretches suppose, that God is not able 
to judge for himself : at least, not able to execute his 
own judgment ! And that, therefore, he has recourse, 
forsooth, to their superior knowledge or power; and 
they are to revenge his injuries, root out his enemies, 
and restore his lost honor, though with the destruction 
of the better part of mankind \ But, to do the propa- 
gators of these blasphemous notions justice, they do 



MATTHEW TINDAL. 



233 



not throw this load of scandal on the law of Nature, 
or so much as pretend from thence to authorize theii 
execrable principles • but endeavor to support them by 
traditional religion; especially by mis-interpreted texts 
from the Old Testament; and thereby make, not only 
natural and revealed religion, but the Old and New 
Testament (the latter of which requires doing good 
both to Jews and Gentiles) contradict each other. But 
to return ; if what the light of Nature teaches us con- 
cerning the divine perfections, when duly attended to, 
is not only sufficient to hinder us from failing into su- 
perstition of any kind whatever; bur, as I have already 
shown, demonstrates what God, from his infinite wis- 
dom and goodness, can, or cannot command ■ how is 
it possible that the law of Nature and grace can dif- 
fer? How can it be conceived, that God r s laws, wheth- 
er internally, or externally revealed, are not at all 
times the same, when the author of them is, and has 
been immutably the same forever! 7 ?J 

The following passage exhibits the judicious mix- 
ture of autb.or.ity and argument for which our author 
is remarkable. The quotation is a good illustration of 
Tindal's best manner. He is replying to Dr. Samuel 
Clark 

" It cannot be imputed to any defect in the light of 
nature, that the pagan world ran into idolatry, but to 
their being entirely governed by priests, who pretend- 
ed communication with their gods, and to have thence 
their revelations, which they imposed on the credulous 
as divine oracles : whereas the business of the Chris- 
tian dispensation was to destroy all those traditional 
revelations ; and restore, free from all idolatry, the 
true primitive, and natural religion, implanted in man- 
kind from the creation. The Dr. (Clark) however, 
seems afraid, lest he had allowed too much to the light 
of nature, in relation to the discovery of our duty both 
to God and man ) and not left room for revelation to 
make any addition ; he therefore supposes, ' there are 
some duties, which nature hints at only in general.' — 
But, if we cannot, without highly reflecting on the wis- 



240 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



dom and goodness of God. suppose that he has not. at 
all times, given the whole rational creation a plain 
rule for their conduct, in relation to those duties they 
owe to God, themselves, and one another* mu-t we 
not suppose .reason, and religion (that rule of all other 
rules) inseparable* so that no rational creature can be 
ignorant ot it, who attends to the dictates of his own 
mind; I mean, as far as it is necessary for him to know 
it! An ignorant peasant may know what is sufficient 
for him, without knowing as much as the learned rec- 
tor ot St. James's. Though the Dr. says, • the knowl- 
edge of the law of nature is, in fact, by no means uni- 
versal i 1 yet'he asserts, that ' man is plainly in his own 
nature an accountable creature ; ' which supposes that 
the light of nature plainly, and undeniably, teaches 
him that law, for breach of which he is naturally ac- 
countable 5 and did not the Dr. believe this law to be 
universal, he could not infer a future judgment from 
the conscience all men have of their actions, or the 
judgment they pass on them in their own minds where- 
by £ They that have not any law, are a law unto them- 
selve> ; their consciences bearing witness, and their 
thoughts accusing, or excusing one another; ' which is 
supposing but one law, whether that law be written on 
paper, or in men's hearts only ; and that all men by 
the judgment they pass on their own actions, are con- 
scious of this law. And, the apostle Paul, though 
quoted by the Dr., is so far from favoring his hypothe- 
sis of any invincible ignorance, even in the wisest and 
best of the philosophers, that he, by saying, The Gen- 
tiles, that have not the law, do by nature the things 
contained in the law, makes the law of nature and 
grace to be the same : and supposes the reason why 
they were to be punished, was their sinning agah^t 
iight and knowledge. That which may be known of 
God was manifest in them, and when they knew God, 
they glorified him not as God. And they were like- 
wise guilty of abominable corruptions, not ignorantly, 
but knowing the judgment of God, that they who do 
such things are worthy of death. 



MATTHEW TINDAL. 



241 



" Had the Dr. but considered this self-evident propo- 
sition, that there can be no transgression where there 
is no law ; and that an unknown law is the same as no 
law • and consequently, that all mankind, at all times, 
must be capable of knowing all (whether more or less) 
that God requires, it would have prevented his en- 
deavoring to prove, that, till the gospel dispensation, 
mankind were entirely, and unavoidably ignorant of 
their duty in several important points; and thus charg- 
ing the light of nature with undeniable defects. I 
think it no compliment to external revelation, though 
the Dr. designed it as the highest, to say, it prevailed, 
when the light of nature was, as he supposes, in a man- 
ner extinct : since then an irrational religion might as 
easily obtain, as a rational one. The Dr., to prove that 
revelation has supplied the insufficiency, and undeni- 
able defects of the light of nature, refers us to Phil., 
iv., 1, which he introduces after this pompous manner: 
— 1 Let any man of an honest and sincere mind con- 
sider, whether that practical doctrine has not, even iu 
itself, the greatest marks of a divine original, where- 
in whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are 
honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things 
are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever 
things are of good report, if there be any virtue, it 
there be anything praiseworthy; all these, and these 
only, are earnestly recommended to man's practice. 7 
[ would ask the Dr., how he can know what these 
are, which are thus alone earnestly recommended to 
man's practice ; or, why they have, in themselves, the 
greatest marks of a divine original ) but from the light 
of nature? Nay, how can the Dr. know there are de- 
fects in the light of nature, but from that light itself? 
w r hich supposes this light is all we have to trust to; 
and consequently, ail the Dr. has been doing, on pre- 
tence of promoting the honor of revelation, is introduc- 
ing universal scepticism. And I am concerned, and 
grieved, to see a man, who had so great a share of the 
light of nature, employing it to expose that light, of 
which before he had given the highest cominenda- 
21 



242 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



tion ; and which can have no other effect, than to 
weaken even his own demonstration, drawn from that 
light, for the being of a God. I shall mention but one 
text more, which, had not the Dr. thought it highly to 
his purpose, for showing the insufficiency of the light 
of nature, he would not have ushered it in after this 
most solemn manner: — 4 When men have put them- 
selves into this temper and frame of mind, let them 
try if thev can any longer reject the evidence of the 
gospel. If any man will do his will, he shall know of 
the doctrine ; whether it be of God. 7 Is it not strange, 
to see so judicious a divine write after such a manner, 
as if he thought the best way to support the dignity of 
revelation, was to derogate from the immutable and 
eternal law of nature I and while he is depressing it, 
extol revelation for those very things il borrows from 
that law 1 in which, though he asserts there are un- 
deniable defects, yet he owns that God governs all his 
own actions by it, and expects that all men should so 
govern theirs. 

" But, I find the Dr. ? s own brother, the Dean of Sa- 
rum, is entirely of my mind, as to those texts the Dr. 
quotes — viz., Rom. ii., 14, and Phil, iv., 8. As to the 
hist — viz., Rom. ii., 14, he says, 4 The apostle supposes, 
that the moral law is founded in the nature and reason 
of things ; that every man is endued with such powers 
ana faculties of mind, as render him capable of see- 
ing, and taking notice of this law • and also with such 
a sense and judgment of the reasonableness and fitness 
of conforming his actions to it, that he cannot but in 
his own mind acquit himself when he does so; and 
condemn himself when he does otherwise.' And as 
to the second — viz., Phil, iv., 8, where the same apos- 
tle recommends the practice of Virtue, upon the fore- 
mentioned principles of comeliness and reputation. — 
i These principles,' says he, 1 if duly attended to, were 
sufficient to instruct men in the whole of their duty 
towards themselves, and towards each other. And 
they would also have taught them their duty towards 
God, their Creator and Governor, if they had diligent- 



MATTHEW TINDAL. 



243 



ly pursued th3m. For according as the apostle ex- 
presses it, Rom. i., 20, the invisible things of God from 
the creation of the world are clearly seen,, being un- 
derstood by the things that are made, even his eternal 
power and Godhead. The same fitness and decency 
that appears in men's regular behavior towards each 
other, appears also in their behavior towards God. 
And this, likewise, is founded in the nature and reason 
of things; and is what the circumstances and condi- 
tion they are in do absolutely require. Thus we see 
therein moral virtue, or good consists, and what the 
obligation to it is from its own native beauty and ex- 
cellency.' " 

One more example of Tindal's style will show how 
skilfully and cogently he forced the great authorities 
ot his day to bear witness to the truth of his leading 
proposition, the natural antiquity of all the reasonable 
precepts of the Bible : — 

" The most accurate Dr. Barrow gives this character 
of the Christian religion, 'That its precepts are no 
other than such as physicians prescribe for the health 
of our bodies,* as politicians would allow to be needful 
for the peace of the state • as Epicurean philosophers 
recommend for the tranquillity of our minds, and pleas- 
ures of our lives* such as reason dictates, and daily 
shows conducive to our welfare in all respects ; which 
consequently, were there no law enacting them, we 
should in wisdom choose to observe, and voluntarily 
impose them on ourselves; confessing them to be fit 
matters of law, and most advantageous and requisite 
to the good, general and particular, of mankind.' 

" That great and good man Dr. Tillotson says, -That 
all the precepts of Christianity are reasonable and wise, 
requiring such duties as are suitable to the light of na- 
ture, and do approve themselves to the best reason of 
mankind * such as have their foundation in the nature 
of God, and are an imitation of the divine excellen- 
cies * such as tend to the perfection of human nature, 
and to raise the minds of men to the highest pitch of 
goodness and virtue. They command nothing that is 



244 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



unnecessary, they omit nothing that may tend to the 
glory of God, or the welfare of men, nor do they re- 
strain us in anything, but what is contrary to the reg- 
ular inclinations of nature, or to our reason, and true 
interest; they forbid us nothing but what is base and 
unworthy to serve our humors and passions, to make 
ourselves fools and beasts. In a word, nothing but 
what tends'to our private harm, or prejudice, or to pub- 
lic disorder and confusion. 7 

" The late Dean of Canterbury, in a sermon preach- 
ed in defence of Christianity, says,^ ' What can be a 
more powerful incentive to obedience, than for a ra- 
tional creature clearly to discern the equity, the neces- 
sity, the benefit, the decency and beauty of every ac- 
tion he is called to do, and thence to be duly sensible 
how gracious a master he serves ; one that is so far 
from loading him with fruitless, arbitrary, and tyranni- 
cal impositions, that each command abstracted from 
his command who issues it, is able to recommend it- 
self ; and nothing required but what every wise man 
would choose of his accord ; and cannot, without be- 
ing his own enemy, wish to be exempted from] 7 And 
this character of Christianity he makes to be essential 
to its being from God, and therefore must make it the 
same with natural religion, which has this character 
impressed on it. 

" 4 There was none of the doctrines of our Saviour 
(says the late Archbishop of York)f calculated for the 
gratification of men's idle curiosities, the busying and 
amusing them with airy and useless speculations; 
much less were they intended for an exercise of our 
credulity, or a trial how far we could bring our reason 
to submit to our faith ; but as on the one hand they 
were plain and simple, and such as by their agreeable- 
ness to the rational faculties of mankind, did highly 
recommend themselves to our belief ; so on the other 
hand they had an immediate relation to practice, and 



# Boyle's Lect., p. 26, 

f Sermon before the Queen on Christmas Day, 1724. 



MATTHEW TINDAL. 



245 



were the general principles and foundation, on which 
all human and divine virtues were naturally to be si> 
perstructed.' Does not every one see, that if the re- 
ligion of nature had been put instead of Christianity, 
these descriptions would have exactly agreed with it ? 

" The judicious Dr. Scot affirms, ' God never impos- 
es laws on us pro imperio, as arbitrary tests and trials of 
our obedience. The great design of them (says he,) is 
to do us good, and direct our actions to our own inter- 
est. This, if we firmly believe, will infinitely encour- 
age our obedience ; for when I am sure God commands 
me nothing but what my own health, ease, and happi- 
ness requires; and that every law of his is both a ne- 
cessary and sovereign prescription against the diseases 
of my nature, and he could not prescribe less than he 
has, without being defective in his care of my recove- 
ry and happiness; with what prudence and modesty 
can I grudge to obey him? J 

" Nay, the most considerate men, even among the 
Papists, do not scruple to maintain there's nothing in 
religion but what is moral. The divines of Port Royal 
for instance, say, ' All the precepts, and all the myste- 
ries that are expressed in so many different ways in 
the holy volumes, do all centre in this one command- 
ment of loving God with all our heart, and in loving 
our neighbors as ourselves : for the Scripture (it is St. 
Austin who says it) forbids but one only thing, w 7 hich 
is concupiscence, or the love of the creature ; as it 
commands but one only thing, which is charity, and 
the love of God. Upon this double precept is founded 
the whole system of the Christian religion ; and it is 
unto this, say they, according to the expression of Je- 
sus Christ, that all the ancient law and the prophets 
have reference ; and we may add also, all the myste- 
ries, and all the precepts of the new law; for love, 
says St. Paul, is the fulfilling of the law.' And these 
divines likewise cite a remarkable passage of St. Aus- 
tin on this subject, viz., 1 He that knows how to love 
God, and to regulate his life by that love, knows ali 
that the Scripture propounds to be known. 7 And I 
21* 



246 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



might add the authority of a greater man, and a Pa 
pist too.^ who says, ''Religion adds nothing to natuial 
probity, but the consolation of doing that for love and 
obedience to our Heavenly Father, which reason itself 
requires us do, in favor of virtue. 7 77 

Tindal was a solid, rather than a brilliant writer : 
but he perfectly knew what he was about; and the 
work from which we quote, was well conceived and 
carefully executed. His ground was skilfully chosen, 
his arguments were placed on an eminence where his 
friends could see them, and where his enemies could 
not assail them. Dr. Leland, in his view of Deistical 
writers, is quite in a rage with him, because he dis- 
credits Book Revelation, to set up Nature's Revelation. 
His real offence was, that he did prove that Nature was 
the only source of truth and reason — the criterion by 
which even Divine Revelation must be judged. He 
carried men back to the gospel of nature, by the side 
of which the gospel of the Jewish fishermen did not 
show to advantage. Tindal did put something in the 
place of that which he was supposed desirous of re- 
moving. How unwilling Christians of that day were 
to admit of improvement in religion, is shown by the 
number of attacks TindaPs work sustained. The Bish- 
op of London published a " Second Pastoral Letter " 
against it; Dr. Thomas Burnet "confuted 77 it; Mr. 
Law " fully 77 answered it; Dr. Stebbing u obviated 
the principal objections " in it. " The same learned 
and judicious writer, 77 observes Leland, a second time 
entered the lists, in " answer to the fourteenth chapter 
of a book, entitled 1 Christianity as Old as the Crea- 
tion. 7 77 Mr. Balgny issued a " Second Letter to a De- 
ist, 77 occasioned by TindaPs work. Mr. Anthony O'Key 
gave a short view of the whole controversy. Dr. Fors- 
ter, Dr. John Conybeare, " particularly engaged public 
attention r as Dr. TindaPs antagonists. Mr. Simon 
Brown produced a " solid and excellent 77 answer ; and 

% Archbishop of Cambray : Lettres sur la Religion, p, 
253, a Paris. 



MATTHEW TINDAL. 



247 



Dr. Leland, with many blu-hes, tells us that he him- 
seif issued in Dublin, in 1773, two volumes, taking a 
wider compass than the other answers. 

" Christianit}' as Old as the Creation 7? is a work 
which Freethinkers may yet consult with advantage, 
as a repertory of authorities no longer accessible to the 
readers of this generation. What these authorities al- 
lege will be found to have intrinsic value, to be indeed 
lasting testimonies in favor of Rationalism. In passing 
in review the noble truths, Tindal insists that it is im- 
possible not to wonder at the policy, or rather want of 
policy displayed by Christians. Tindal is an author 
whom they might be proud of, if they were really in 
Jove with reason. TindaPs opponents have shown how 
instinctively the children of faith distrust the truths of 
Nature. After all the " refutations,' 7 and " confuta- 
tions, ;; and " answers ?7 made to the great Deist, Tin- 
daPs work has maintained its ground, and the truths 
he so ably and spiritedly vindicated, have spread wider 
since and taken deeper root. J. W. 



BIOGRAPH\ 

OF 

DAVID HUME. 



Lord Brougham has rendered service not only to 
" Letters,' 7 but also to Freethought, by his admirable 
tL Lives, " incomparably the best we have, of Voltaire, 
Rousseau, Hume, Gibbon, etc. From Lord Brougham 
we learn (whose life in this sketch we follow) that 
David Hume, related to the Earl of Hume's family, 
was born in Edinburgh, in April, 1711. Refusing to 
be made a lawyer, he was sent, in 1734, to a mercan- 
tile house in Bristol. The u desk " not suiting the 
embryo historian's genius, we find him in 1737 at La 
Fleche, in Anjou, writing his still-born " Treatise on 
Human Nature • " which in 1742, in separate Essays, 
attracted some notice. Keeper and companion to the 
Marquis of Annandale in 1745, private secretary to 
General St. Clair in 1747, he visited on embassy the 
courts of Vienna and Turin. While at Turin he com- 
pleted his " Inquiry Concerning the Human Under- 
standing," the "Treatise on Human Nature" in a 
new form. Returned to Scotland, he published his 
" Political Discourses " in 1752, and the same year 
his " Inquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals." 
The " Essays, Moral and Metaphysical," are the form 
in which we now read these speculations. In 1752, 
Hume became librarian to the Faculty of Advocates. 
Ia 1754 he published the first volume of his " History 



250 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



of England." In 1755, appeared his "Natural History 
of Religion. ?? In 1763 he accompanied the British 
ambassador to Paris. In 1765 he became charge cVaf- 
faires. In 1766 he was appointed Under Secretary of 
State under Marshal Conway. In 1775 he was seized 
with a mortal disease, which he bore without any 
abatement of his cheerfulness; and on the 25th of 
August, u le bon David/ 7 as he was styled in Paris, 
died, to use his own words, having " no enemies — 
except all the Whigs, all the Tories, and all the 
Christians" — which was something to his honor, and 
a testimony of the usefulness of his life. 

David Hume was the first writer who gave histori- 
cal distinction to Great Britain. Lord John Russell re- 
marked in a speech at Bristol, in October, 1854 : — " We 

have no other 'History of England ' than Hume's 

When a young man of eighteen asks fur a ' History of 
England,' there is no resource but to give him Hume." 
Hume was the author of the modern doctrines of poli- 
tics and political economy, which now rule the world 
of science. He was ;c the sagacious unfolder of truth, 
the accurate and bold discoverer of popular error." 
More than a sceptic, he was an Atheist. Such is Lord 
Brougham's judgment of him. 

Hume carried Freethought into high places. in 
originality of thought, grace of style, and logical abili- 
ty, he distanced all rival writers on religion in his 
time, and what is of no small importance, his life was 
as blameless as his intellect was unapproachable. 

Our first extract from his writings is a felicitous 
statement of the pro and con., on the questions of poly- 
gamous and single marriages : — 

" A man, in conjoining himself to a woman, is bound 
to her according to the terms of his engagement. In 
begetting children, he is bound, by all the ties of 
nature and humanity, to provide for their subsistence 
and education. When he has performed these two 
parts of duty, no one can reproach him with injustice 
or injury. And as the terms of his engagement, as 
well as the methods of subsisting his offspring, may 



DAVID HUME. 



251 



be various, it is mere superstition to imagine that mar- 
riage can be entirely uniform, and will admit only of 
one mode or form. Did not human laws restrain the 
natural liberty of men. every particular marriage w T oulu 
be as different as contracts or bargains of any other 
kind or species. As circumstances vary, and the laws 
propose different advantages, we find, that in different 
times and places, they impose different conditions on 
this important contract. In Tonquin, it is usual for 
the sailors, when the ship comes into the harbor, to 
marry for the season; and, notwithstanding this pre- 
carious engagement, they are assured, it is said, of the 
strictest fidelity to their bed, as well as in the whole 
management of their affairs, from those temporary 
spouses. I cannot, at present, recollect ray authoii- 
iies; but I have somewhere read, that the Republic of 
Athens, having lost many of its citizens by war and 
pestilence, allowed every man to marry two wives, in 
order the sooner to repair the waste which had been 
made by these calamities. The poet Euripides hap- 
pened to be coupled to two noisy vixens, w^ho so plag- 
ued him with their jealousies and quarrels, that, he 
became ever after a professed woman hater; and is the 
only theatrical writer, perhaps the only poet, that ever 

entertained an aversion to the sex The advocates 

for polygamy may recommend it as the only effectual 
remedy for the disorders of love, and the only expe- 
dient for freeing men from that slavery to the females 
which the natural violence of our passions has imposed 
upon us. By this means alone can we regain our right 
of sovereignty; and, sating our appetite, re-establish 
the authority of reason in our minds, and, of conse- 
quence, our own authority in our families. Man, like 
a weak sovereign, being unable to support himself 
against the wiles and intrigues of his subjects, must 
play one faction against another, and become absolute 
by the mutual jealousy of the females. To divide and 
to govern is an universal maxim,* and by neglecting 
it, the Europeans undergo a more grievous and a more 
ignominious slavery than the Turks or Persians, who 



252 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



are subjected indeed to a sovereign that lies at a dis- 
tance from them, but in their domestic affairs rales 
with an uncontrollable sway. On the other hand, it 
may be urged with better reason, that this sovereignty 
of the male is a real usurpation, and destroys that 
nearness of rank, not to say equality, which nature 
has established between the sexes. We are, by na- 
ture, their lovers, their friends, their patrons. Would 
we willingly exchange such endearing appellations for 
the barbarous title of master and tyrant? In what ca- 
pacity shall we gain by this inhuman proceeding'? As 
lovers, or as husbands'? The lover is totally annihilat- 
ed • and courtship, the most agreeable scene in life, 
can no longer have place where women have not the 
free disposal of themselves, but are bought and sold 
like the meanest animal. The husband is as little a 
gainer, having found the admirable secret of extin- 
guishing every part of love, except its jealousy. No 
rose without its thorn • but he must be a foolish wretch 
indeed, that throws away the rose and preserves only 
the thorn. But the Asiatic manners are as destructive 
to friendship as to love. Jealousy excludes men from 
all intimacies and familiarities with each other. No 
one dares bring his friend to his house or table, lest he 
bring a lover to his numerous wives. Hence, all over 
the East, each family is as much separate from anoth- 
er as if they were so many distinct kingdoms. No 
w T onder then that Solomon, living like an Eastern 
prince, with his seven hundred wives, and three hun- 
dred concubines, without one friend, could write so 
pathetically concerning the vanity of the world. Had 
he tried the secret of one wife or mistress, a few 
friends, and a great many companions, he might have 
found life somewhat more agreeable. Destroy love 
and friendship, what remains in the world worth ac- 
cepting % ?J 

Next we quote his famous statement of the principle 
of utility in morals : — 

" There has been a controversy started of late much 
better worth examination, concerning the general foun- 



DAVID HUME. 



253 



dation of morals ; whether they be derived from reason 
or from sentiment; whether we attain the knowledge 
of them by a chain of argument and induction, or by 
an immediate feeling and finer internal sense ; wheth- 
er, like all sound judgment of truth and falsehood, 
they should be the ^ame to every rational intelligent 
being; or whether like the perception of beauty and 
deformity, they be founded entirely on the particular 
fabric and constitution of the human species. The 
ancient philosophers, though they often affirm that 
virtue is nothing but conformity to reason, yet, in 
general, seem to consider morals as deriving their ex- 
istence from taste and sentiment. On the other hand, 
our modern inquirers, though they also talk much of 
the beauty of virtue, and deformity of vice, yet have 
commonly endeavored to account for these distinctions 
by metaphysical reasonings, and by deductions from the 
most abstiact principles of the understanding. Such 
confusion reigned in these subjects, that an opposition 
of the greatest consequence could prevail between 
one system and another, and even in the parts of 
almost each individual system; and yet nobody, till 
very lately, was ever sensible of it. The elegant Lord 
Shaftesbury, who first gave occasion to remark this 
distinction, and who, in general, adhered to the prin- 
ciples ot the ancients, is not, himself, entirely free 

from the same confusion In all determinations of 

morality, the circumstance of public utility is ever 
principally in view; and wherever disputes arise, eith- 
er in philosophy or common life, concerning the bounds 
of duty, the question cannot, by any means, be decid- 
ed with greater certainty, than by ascertaining, on any- 
side, the true interests of mankind. If any false opin- 
ion, embraced from appearances, has been found to 
prevail ; as soon as farther experience and sounder 
reasoning have given us juster notions of human af- 
fairs, we retract our first sentiment, and adjust anew 
the boundaries of moral good and evil. Giving alms 
to common beggars is naturally praised ; because it 
seems to carry relief to the distressed and indigent; 
22 



254 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



but when we observe the encouragement thence aris- 
ing to idleness and debauchery, we regard that spe- 
cies of chanty rather as a weakness than a virtue. 
Tyrannicide, or the assassination of usurpers and op- 
pressive princes, was highly extolled in ancient times; 
because it both freed mankind from many of these 
monsters, and seemed to keep the others in awe whom 
the sword or poniard could not reach. But history and 
experience having since convinced us, that this prac- 
tice increases the jealousy and cruelty of princes, a 
Timoleon and a Brutus, though treated with indul- 
gence on account of the prejudices of their times, are 
now considered as very improper models for imitation. 
Liberality in princes is regarded as a mark of bene- 
ficence. But when it occurs, that the homely bread 
of the honest and industrious is often thereby convert- 
ed into delicious cakes for the idle and the prodigal, 
we soon retract our heedless praises. The regrets of 
a prince, for having lost a day, were noble and gener- 
ous ) but had he intended to have spent it in acts of 
generosity to his greedy courtiers, it was better lost 

than misemployed after that manner That justice 

is useful to society, and consequently that part of its 
merit, at least, must arise from that consideration, it 
would be a superfluous undertaking to prove. That 
public utility is the sole origin of justice, that reflec- 
tions on the beneficial consequences of this virtue are 
the sole foundation of its merit; this proposition being 
more curious and important, will better deserve our 
examination and inquiry. Let us suppose that nature 
has bestowed on the human race such profuse abun- 
dance of all external conveniences, that, without any 
uncertainty in the event, without any care or industry 
on our part, every individual finds himself fully pro- 
vided with whatever his most voracious appetite can 
want, or luxurious imagination wish or desire. His 
natural beauty, we shall suppose, surpasses ail acquir- 
ed ornaments : the perpetual clemency of the seasons 
renders useless all clothes or covering : the raw herb- 
age affords him the most delicious fare ; the clear 



DAVID HUME. 



255 



fountain, the richest beverage. No laborious occupa- 
tion required : no tillage : no navigation. Music, poe* 
try, and contemplation, form his sole business: con 
versation, mirth, and friendship his sole amusement. 
It seems evident, that, in such a happy state, every 
other social virtue would flourish, and receive tenfold 
increase ; but the cautious, jealous virtue of justice, 
would never once have been dreamed of. For what 
purpose make a partition of goods, where every one 
has already more than enough 1 Why give rise to 
property, where there cannot possibly be any injury! 
Why call this object mine, when, upon seizing of it by 
another, I need but stretch out my hand to possess 
myself of what is equally valuable % Justice, in that 
case, being totally useless, would be an idle ceremo- 
nial, and could never possibly have place in the 
catalogue of virtues. We see, even in the present 
necessitous condition of mankind, that, wherever any 
benefit is bestowed by nature in an unlimited abun- 
dance, we leave it always in common among the 
whole human race, and make no subdivisions of right 
and property. Water and air, though the most neces- 
sary of all objects, are not challenged as the property 
of individuals ; nor can any man commit injustice by 
the most lavish use and enjoyment of these blessings. 
In fertile extensive countries, with few inhabitants, 
land is regarded on the same footing. And no topic 
is so much insisted on by those who defend the liberty 
of the seas, as the unexhausted use of them in naviga- 
tion. Were the advantages procured by navigation 
as inexhaustible, these reasoners had never had any 
adversaries to refute : nor had any claims ever been 
advanced of a separate, exclusive dominion over the 

ocean Suppose a society to fall into such want of 

all common necessaries, that the utmost frugality and 
industry cannot preserve the greater number from 
perishing, and the whole from extreme misery. It 
will readily, I believe, be admitted that the strict lawa 
of justice are suspended in such a pressing emergence, 
and give place to the stronger motives of necessity and 



256 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



self-preservation. Is it any crime, after a shipwreck, 
to seize whatever means or instrument of safety one 
can lay hold of, without regard to former limitations 
of property! Or if a city besieged were perishing 
with hunger; can we imagine that men will see any 
means of preservation belore them, and lose their lives 
from a scrupulous regard to what, in other situations, 
would be the rules of equity and justice? The use 
and tendency of that virtue is to procure happiness 
and security, by preserving order in society. But 
where the society is ready to perish from extreme 
necessity, no greater evil can be dreaded from vio- 
lence and injustice ; and every man may now provide 
for himself by all the means which prudence can dic- 
tate, or humanity permit. The public, even in less 
urgent necessities, opens granaries without the con- 
sent of proprietors; as justly supposing, that the au- 
thority of magistracy may, consistent with equity, ex- 
tend so far. But were any number of men to assem- 
ble, without the tie of laws or civil jurisdiction ; would 
an equal partition of bread in a famine, though effect- 
ed by power and even violence, be regarded as crimi- 
nal or injurious! Suppose, likewise, that it should be 
a virtuous man's fate to fall into the society of ruffians, 
remote from the protection of laws and government; 
what conduct must he embrace in that melancholy 
situation] He sees such a desperate rapaciousness 
prevail ; such a disregard to equity, such contempt of 
order, such stupid blindness to future consequences, as 
must immediately have the most tragical conclusion, 
and must terminate in destruction to the greater num- 
ber, and in a total dissolution of society to the rest. 
He, meanwhile, can have no other expedient than to 
arm himself, to whomever the sword he seizes, or the 
buckler may belong : to make provision of all means 
of defence and security : and his particular regard to 
justice being no longer of use to his own safety or that 
of others, he must consult the dictates of self-preserva- 
tion alone, without concern for those who no longer 
merit his care and attention But perhaps the diffi- 



DATID HUME. 



257 



calty of accounting for these effects of usefulness, or 
its contrary, has kept philosophers from admitting 
them into their systems of ethics, and has induced 
them to employ any other principle, in explaining the 
origin of moral good and evil. But it is no just reason 
for rejecting any principle, confirmed by experience, 
that we cannot give a satisfactory account of its origin, 
nor are able to resolve it into other more general prin- 
ciples. And if we would employ a little thought on 
the present subject, we need be at no loss to account 
for the influence of utility, and deduce it from princi- 
ples the most known and avowed in human nature 

Usefulness is agreeable, and engages our approbation. 
This is a matter of fact, confirmed by daily observa- 
tion. But useful ! For what? For somebody's inter- 
est, surely ! Whose interest then I Not our own only; 
for our approbation frequently extends farther. It must 
therefore be the interest of those who are served by 
the character or action approved of j and these, we 
may conclude, however remote, are not totally indif- 
ferent to us. By opening up this principle, we shall 
discover one great source of moral distinctions." 

The origin and miscniefs of Theistic influences is the 
subject of the following passage : — 

" It must necessarily, indeed, be allowed, that in or- 
der to carry men's attention beyond the present course 
of things, or lead them into any inference concerning 
invisible intelligent power, they must be actuated by 
some passion which prompts their thought and reflec- 
tion, some motive which urges their first inquiry. But 
what passion shall we here have recourse to, for ex- 
plaining an effect of such mighty consequence ? Not 
speculative curiosity, surely, or the pure love of truth. 
That motive is too refined for such gross apprehen- 
sions ; and would lead men into inquiries concerning 
the frame of nature, a subject too large and compre- 
hensive for their narrow capacities. No passions, there- 
fore, can be supposed to work upon such barbarians, 
but the ordinary affections of human life ; the anxious 
concern for happiness, the dread of future misery, the 
22* 



258 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



terror of death, the thirst of revenge, the appetite for 
food and other necessaries. Agitated by hopes and 
fears of this nature, especially the latter, men scruti- 
nize, with a trembling curiosity, the course of future 
causes, and examine the various and contrary events 
of human life. And in this disordered scene, with eyes 
still more disordered and astonished, they see the first 

obscure traces of divinity We hang in perpetua' 

suspense between life and death, health and sicknes-, 
plenty and want, which are distributed amongst the 
human species by secret and unknown causes, whose 
operation is oft unexpected, and always unaccountable. 
These unknown causes, then, become the constant ob- 
ject of hope and fear; and while the passions are kept 
in perpetual alarm by an anxious expectation of the 
events, the imagination is equally employed in form- 
ing ideas of those powers on which we have so entire 
a dependence. Could men anatomize nature, accord- 
ing to the most probable, at least the most intelligible 
philosophy, they would find that these causes are noth- 
ing but the particular fabric and structure of the mi- 
nute parts of their own bodies and of external objects; 
and that by a regular and constant machinery, all the 
events are produced, about which they are so much 

concerned There is an universal tendency among 

mankind to conceive ail beings like themselves, and to 
transfer to every object those qualities with which they 
are familiarly acquainted, and of which they are inti- 
mately conscious. We find human faces in the moon, 
armies in the clouds; and, by a natural propensity, it 
not corrected by experience and reflection, ascribe 
malice or good will to everything that hurts or pleases 
us. Hence the frequency and beauty of the prosopo- 
poeia in poetry ; where trees, mountains, and streams 
are personified, and the inanimate parts of nature ac- 
quire sentiment and passion. And though these poeti- 
cal figures and expressions gain not on the belief, they 
may serve, at least, to prove a certain tendency in the 
imagination, without which they could neither be beau- 
tiful nor natural. Nor is a river-god or hamadryad al 



DAVID HUME. 



259 



ways taken for a mere poetical or imaginary personage, 
but may sometimes enter into the real creed of the ig- 
norant vulgar j while each grove or field is represent- 
ed as possessed of a particular genius or invisible pow- 
er which inhabits and protects it. Nay, philosophers 
cannot entirely exempt themselves from this natural 
frailty; but have oft ascribed to inanimate matter the 
horror of a vacuum, sympathies, antipathies, and other 
affections of human nature. The absurdity is not less, 
while we cast our eyes upwards ; and, transferring, as 
is too usual, human passions and infirmities to the Dei- 
ty, represent him as jealous and revengeful, capricious 
and partial, and, in short, a wicked and foolish man in 
every respect but his superior power and authority. — 
No wonder, then, that mankind, being placed in such 
an absolute ignorance of causes, and being at the same 
time so anxious concerning their future fortune, should 
immediately acknowledge a dependence on invisible 
powers, possessed of sentiment and intelligence. The 
unknown causes which continually employ their thought, 
appearing always in the same aspect, are all apprehend- 
ed to be of the same kind or species. Nor is it long 
before we ascribe to them thought, and reason, and 
passion, and sometimes even the limbs and figures of 
men, in order to bring them nearer to a resemblance 

with ourselves It is remarkable, that the principles 

of religion have a kind of flux and reflux in the human 
mind, and that men have a natural tendency to rise 
from idolatry to Theism, and to sink again from Theism 
into idolatry. The vulgar — that is, indeed, all mankind, 
a few excepted — being ignorant and uninstructed, 
never elevate their contemplation to the heavens, or 
penetrate by their disquisitions into the secret structure 
or vegetable or animal bodies; so far as to discover a 
Supreme Mind or Original Providence, which bestowed 
order on every part of nature. They consider these 
admirable works in a more confined and selfish view ; 
and finding their own happiness and misery to depend 
on the secret influence and unforeseen concurrence of 
external objects, they regard, with perpetual attention, 



260 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



the unknown causes which govern all these natural 
events, and distribute pleasure and pain, good and ill, 
by their powerful but silent operation. The unknown 
causes are still appealed to on every emergency ; and 
in this general appearance or confused image, are the 
perpetual objects of human hopes and fears, wishes and 
apprehensions. By degrees, the active imagination of 
men, uneasy in this abstract conception of objects, 
about which it is incessantly employed, begins to ren- 
der them more particular, and to clothe them in shapes 
more suitable to its natural comprehension. It repre- 
sents them to be sensible, intelligent beings like man- 
kind j actuated by love and hatred, and flexible by 
gifts and entreaties, by prayers and sacrifices. Hence 
the origin of religion : and hence the origin of idolatry 
or polytheism. ,} 

More has been written by theologians in endeavors 
to refute the following passage, than has ever been 
called forth by the wit of man before by the same num- 
ber of words : — 

" A miracle is a violation of the laws of nature ; and 
as a firm and unalterable experience has established 
these laws, the proof against a miracle, from the very 
nature of the fact, is as entire as any argument from 
experience can possibly be imagined. Why is it more 
than probable that all men must die ; that lead cannot, 
of itself, remain suspended in the air; that fire con- 
sumes wood, and is extinguished by water; unless it 
be that these events are found agreeable to the laws of 
nature, and there is required a violation of these laws, 
or, in other words, a miracle to prevent them % Noth- 
ing is esteemed a miracle, if it ever happen in the 
common course of nature. It is no miracle that a man, 
seemingly in good health, should die on a sudden; be- 
cause such a kind of death, though more unusual than 
any other, has yet been frequently observed to happen. 
But it is a miracle that a dead man should come to 
life ; because that has never been observed in any age 
or country. There must, therefore, be an uniform ex- 
perience against every miraculous event, otherwise the 



DAVID HUME. 



261 



event would not merit that appellation. And as an 
uniform experience amounts to a proof, there is here a 
direct and full proof, from the nature of the fad, against 
the existence of any miracle \ nor can such a proof be 
destroyed, or the miracle rendered credible, but by an 
opposite proof which is superior. The plain conse- 
quence is (and it is a general maxim worthy of our at- 
tention,) c That no testimony is sufficient to establish a 
miracle, unless the testimony be of such a kind that 
its falsehood would be more miraculous than the fact 
which it endeavors to establish. And even in that case 
there is a mutual destruction of arguments, and the 
superior only gives us an assurance suitable to that de- 
gree of force which remains after deducting the infe- 
rior. 7 When any one tells me that he saw a dead man 
restored to life, [ immediately consider with myself 
whether it be more probable that this person should 
either deceive or be deceived, or that the fact which 
he relates should really have happened. I weigh the 
one miracle against the other; and according to the 
superiority which I discover, I pronounce my decision, 
and always reject the greater miracle. If the falsehood 
of his testimony would be more miraculous than the 
event which he relates • then, and not till then, can he 

pretend to command my belief or opinion There is 

not to be found, in all history, any miracle attested by 
a sufficient number of men, of such unquestioned good 
sense, education, and learning, as to secure us against 
all delusion in themselves ; of such undoubted integri- 
ty, as to place them beyond all suspicion of any design 
to deceive others ) of such credit and reputation in the 
eyes of mankind, as to have a great deal to lose in case 
of their being detected in any falsehood ; and at the 
same time attesting facts, performed in such a public 
manner, and in so celebrated a part of the world, as to 
render the detection unavoidable ; all which circum- 
stances are requisite to give us a full assurance of the 

testimony of men One of the best attested miracles 

in all profane history, is that which Tacitus reports of 
Vespasian, who cured a blind man in Alexandria by 



262 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



means of his spittle, and a lame man by the mere touch 
of his foot; in obedience to a vision ot the god Serapis, 
who had enjoined them to have recourse to the emper 
or for these miraculous cures. The story may be seen 
in that fine historian • where every circumstance seems 
to add weight to the testimony, and might be displayed 
at large with all the force of argument and eloquence, 
if any one were now concerned to enforce the evidence 
of that exploded and idolatrous superstition. The grav- 
ity, solidity, age, and probity of so great an emperor, 
who through the whole course of his life, conversed in 
a familiar manner, with his friends and courtiers, and 
never affected those extraordinary airs of divinity as- 
sumed by Alexander and Demetrius. The historian, 
a contemporary writer, noted for candor and veracity, 
and, withal, the greatest and most penetrating genius, 
perhaps of all antiquity; and so free from any tenden- 
cy to credulity, that he even lies under the contrary 
imputation of Atheism and profaneness. The persons, 
from whose authority he related the miracle of estab- 
lished character for judgment and veracity, as we may 
well presume ; eye-witnesses of the fact, and confiim- 
ing their testimony, after the Flavian family was de- 
spoiled of the empire, and could no longer give any 
reward as the price of a lie. Utrumque, qui interfuere, 
nunc quoque memorant ) postquam nullum mendacio pre- 
Hum. To which, if we add the public nature of the 
facts, as related, it will appear that no evidence can 
well be supposed stronger for so gross and so palpable 
a falsehood. 3J 

These extracts will give some idea of the grace, and 
power, and penetration of Hume. The society he kept, 
the abilities w T ith which he was justly credited, the 
reputation his works deservedly won for him, made 
him a man of mark and influence in his day. Read 
by the learned, courted by statesmen, he taught gen- 
tlemen liberality, and governments toleration. The 
influence of Hume, silent and inappreciable to the mul- 
titude, has been of the utmost importance to the nation. 
His works have been studied by philosophers, politi- 



DAVID HUME. 



263 



cians, and prelates. The writings of no Freethinker, 
except Voltaire, have maintained their ground with 
continually increasing reputation. Oddly enough, none 
of Hume's works were popular when they first appear- 
ed. In fact, his " Treatise on Human Nature " he had 
to reprint in the form of Essays, five years after its first 
publication. It then, for the first time, began to be 
bought ; but not to any great extent. Five years later, 
he again made it re-appear, under the form of an " In- 
quiry Concerning the Human Understanding. 55 It was 
not until this third publication that he " began to per- 
ceive symptoms of its coming into notice." The 
world has since made up for its negligence, by perpet- 
ual comment and solid appreciation. A king among 
thinkers, the clergy have in the provinces of politics 
and philosophical speculation to acknowledge allegi- 
ance to him, however they may rebel against his theo- 
logical heresies. J. W. 



BIOGRAPHY 

OF 

DR. THOMAS BURNET. 



It was only a very narrow accident which prevent- 
ed Dr. Burnet, an ultra Freethinker in the Church of 
England, from becoming Archbishop of Canterbury at 
the death of Tillotson. A combination of clergymen 
were prepared to immolate themselves providing Bur- 
net could be overthrown. They succeeded. Thomas 
Burnet kept the Charter House, in London, and his con- 
science — happier, perhaps, in this than if he had en- 
joyed the ecclesiastical preferment which King Wil- 
liam seemed so anxious to give him. Amongst the 
clergy, Dr. Burnet was, with the single exception of 
Dean Swift, the greatest Freethinker of whom we can 
boast, who held an influential position in the Church. 
This position is sometimes claimed for Bishop Berke- 
ley, a man of vast talents, a sincere Christian, although 
an innovator in philosophy. 

Thomas Burnet was born in the year 1635. At the 
age of forty-five, he published the work, in Latin, with 
which his name is generally associated, " The Sacred 
Theory of the Earth : containing an account of the 
Original of the Earth, and of all the general changes 
which it has already undergone, or is to undergo, till 
the consummation of all Things. 7 ' This book gives us 
an idea, formed by its author, of the origin of the 
world, and is remarkable as one of the first grand 
23 



266 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



prophecies of geology; although of little value to us, it 
produced an impression upon the age by depicting the 
various strata of the mountainous regions, and compar- 
ing them in different countries, eliminating ideas of 
the nature of the vast changes we see in the universe, 
tracing the rise of most of the phenomena from the 
two elements, fire and water. Burnet thought that at 
one time the whole of matter was in a fluid state, re- 
volving round a central sun, until the heavier particles 
sunk into the middle, and formed the stony strata which 
supports the earth, over which the lighter liquids co- 
alesced until the heat of the sun effectually separated 
water from land. This is the foundation of a scheme 
which is elaborated in a poetic style, abounding in 
eloquent descriptidns ; in fact, it is a philosophic prose 
poem of almost unrivalled beauty. In it there is some 
resemblance to the measured sentences of Shaftes- 
bury, although unequal to that fine writer in sound- 
ness of judgment or practical usefulness. In 1691 an 
English translation was published. 

By far the most interesting work to us of Burnet's 
(also written in Latin) is " Arehceologia Philosophica : 
or, an account of the Opinion of the Ancients on various 
Philosophical Problems. ;; This work created great op- 
position by its free remarks on the Mosaic dispensation, 
although the writer in this, as in the case of his pos- 
thumous works, strongly protested against their being 
translated into the English language, as he was justly 
afraid of their influence on the minds of the laity, and 
from his high official station, with the influence his 
vast learning and his connection with Tillotson, and 
the Court gave him, he was, no doubt, apprehensive 
that the really religious champions of the Church of 
England would denounce him when exposed to the 
temptation of High Church preferment. Fragments of 
those works were translated by the clergy to prove to 
the unlearned what a dangerous character Thomas 
Burnet was. Charles Blount, writing to Gildon, says, 
" I have, according to my promise, sent you herewith 
the seventh and eighth chapters ; as also the appendix. 



THOMAS BURNET. 



267 



of ihe great and learned Dr. Burnet's book, published 
this winter in Latin, and by him dedicated to our most 

gracious Sovereign, King William As for the piece 

itself, I think it is one of the most ingenious I have 
ever read, and full of the most acute as well as learn- 
ed observations. Nor can I find anything worthy an 
objection against him, as some of the censorious part 
of the world pretend ) w 7 ho would have you believe it 
a mere burlesque upon Moses, and destructive to the 
notion of original sin, wherefoie by consequence (say 
they) there could be no necessity of a Redemption, 
which, however, I think no necessary consequence ; 
but, for my part, either the great veneration I have 
for the doctor's extraordinary endowments, or else my 
own ignorance, has so far bribed me to his interests 
that I can, by no means, allow of any of those unjust 
reflections the wholesale merchants of credulity, as 
well as their unthinking retailers, make against him. 
It is true, in the seventh chapter he seems to prove 
that many parts of the Mosaic history of the creation 
appear inconsistent with reason, and in the eighth 
chapter the same appears no less inconsistent with 
philosophy ; wherefore he concludes (as many fathers 
of the Church have done before him) that the whole 
rather seems to have been but a pious allegory.' 7 Dr. 
Burnet took the meaning of much of the Bibie to be 
but a £< pious allegory," and, as such, he strove to 
popularize it with the clergy. We do not believe that 
he intended to enlighten any but the clergy. He fore- 
saw the "flood of fierce democracy," and, like other 
able men with vested rights in the ignorance of the 
people, he strove to temporize, to put off still further 
the day of Christianity's downfall. We place him in 
this biographical niche not because he dashed into the 
fray, like bold Hobbes or chivalrous Woolston, and took 
part in the battle of priestcraft because he thought it 
was right, but rather because he was a Freethinker in 
disguise, longing for Episcopal honors: yet, by one 
false step (the publishing of u Archceologia," ) lost an 
archbishopric, and gave the authority of a great name 



268 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



to struggling opinion. His accession to our ranks was 
a brilliant accident. He died, at the age of eighty 
years, in 1715\ After his demise, two works were 
translated (and published,) both expressive of his lib- 
eral views. The first, " On Christian Faith and Du- 
ties," throwing overboard the whole of the speculative 
tenets of the Bible, and giving practical effect to the 
morals taught in the New Testament, without striving 
to refute, or- even apparently to disbelieve, their au- 
thority, but advising the clergy to treat them as a 
dead letter. The other posthumous treatise was, " On 
the State of the Dead and the Reviving," which shad- 
ows forth a scheme of Deism, inasmuch as Burnet here 
flatly contradicts the usual ideas of "hell torments" 
or "hell fire," while asserting the necessity of those 
" who have not been as good in this life as they ought 
to be " undergoing a probationary purification before 
they attained supreme happiness, yet, eventually, every 
human being would inhabit a heavenly elysium, where 
perennial pleasure would reign, and sorrow be forever 
unknown. 

Those sentiments indicate a high degree of liberal 
culture, although they do not sufficiently embody our 
ideal of one of the great Freethinkers of the past. We 
should have preferred Burnet if he had systematically 
opposed the Church as Toland or Tindal, or if he had 
boldly entered the breach like William Whiston, whose 
singular talents and faithful honesty separated him 
alike from the Church, Dissent, and Deism, and left 
him shipwrecked on the world an able yet a visionary 
reformer. With more ability than Chubb, he resem- 
bled him in his weak policy ; he chose to cut his 
sneers in slices, and served them up for a scholarly 
party rather than hazard the indignation of the igno- 
rant amongst the clergy. We are, however, certain, 
that although Thomas Burnet was deficient in many 
points where he might have done effective service, 
yet we honor him for the boldness with which he 
faced the scholars with his Latin works. He threw an 
apple of discord amongst their ranks which has served, 



THOMAS BURNET. 



269 



in a constantly increasing manner, to divide and dis- 
tract their attention. The result has been a constant 
internecine war in the Church, by which Freethought 
has largely profited. 

We conclude our sketch ot' Dr. Burnet by quoting 
some extracts from the seventh chapter of the 4i Arch- 
oeologia Philosophical as translated by Charles Blount 
in the " Oracles of Reason," concerning Moses's de- 
scription ot Paradise and the original ot things : — 

" We have (says Burnet) hitherto made our inquiries 
into the originals of things, as well as atter a true 
knowledge of Paradise amongst the ancients; yet still 
with reference to sacred writ 5 where it gave us any 
manner of light on the subject, but think it altogether 
unnecessary to define the place or situation of Para- 
dise, since in respect to the theory of the earth, it is 
much the same thing where you place it, providing it 
be not on our modern earth. Now, if you inquire 
among the ancient fathers where the situation of it 
was, either they will have it to be none at all, or else 
obscure and remote from our understanding; some of 
them, indeed, term it an intelligible Paradise, but 
confined to no one particular place ; whilst others, at 
the same time make it a sensible one, and here it is 

they first divided about it, etc Now, the history of 

Paradise, according to Moses, is this: — When God 
had, in six days, finished the creation of the world, 
the seventh day he rested from all manner of work. 
And here Moses relates particularly each day's opera- 
tions ; but for the story of mankind, as well maie as 
female, of which he makes a particular treatise by 
himself. Wherefore, omitting the rest at present, let 
us consider the Mosaic doctrine upon those three sub- 
jects, viz., Adam, Eve, and the Garden of Eden, to- 
gether with tho?e things which are interwoven within 
them. As to the first man, Adam, Moses says he was 
formed not out of stones or dragon's teeth, as other 
Cosmists have feigned concerning their men, but out 
of the dust or clay of the earth, and when his body 
23* 



270 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



was formed, i God blew into kis nostrils the breath of 
life, and man was made a living soul.* 

" But after another manner, and of another matter, 
was the woman built — viz., with one of Adam's small 
bones, for as Adam lay asleep, God took away one of 
his ri6s, and out of that made Eve. So much for the 
forming of the first man and woman by the literal text. 
Moses has likewise given us a large account of their 
first habitation. He says that Godf made them in a 
certain famous garden in the East, and gave it to them 
as a farm to cultivate and to inhabit, which garden 
was a most delightful place, watered with four several 

fountains or rivers, planted with trees of every kind 

Amongst the trees, in the midst of the garden, stood 
two more remarkable than the rest; one was called 
the tree of life, the other the tree of death, or of the 

knowledge of good and evil God, upon pain of 

death, prohibits Adam and Eve from tasting the Iruit 
of this tree; but it happened that Eve sitting solitary 
under this tree, without her husband, there came to 
her a serpent or adder, which (though I know not by 
what means or power) civilly accosted the woman (if 
we may judge of the thing by the event) in these 
words, or to this purpose : — * 

£< Serpent. — All hail, most fair one, what are you 
doing so solitary and serious under this shade 1 

" Eve. — I am contemplating the beauty of this tree. 

" Serp. — ; Tis truly an agreeable sight, but much 
pleasanter are the fruits thereof. Have you tasted 
them, my lady I 

" Eve. — I have not, because God has forbidden us 
to eat of this tree. 

" Serp. — What do 1 hear ! What is that God that 



* We extract this portion not for its merits of buffoone- 
ry, but to show the re^l state of mind which could actuate 
a dignitary of the Church of England in writing it. as the 
eighth chapter is by far the most philosophical, but we 
wish to show Burnet's real sentiments. 



THOMAS BURNET. 



271 



envies his creatures the innocent delights of nature 1 
Nothing is sweeter, nothing more wholesome than this 
fruit; why, then, should he forbid it, unless in jest l . 

" Eve. — But he has forbid it us on pain of death. 

<c Serp. — Undoubtedly you mistake his meaning. 
This tree has nothing that would prove fatal to you, 
but rather something divine, and above the common 
order of nature. 

u Eve. — I can give you no answer; but will go to 
my husband, and then do as he thinks fit. 

" Serp. — Why should you trouble your husband over 
such a trifle ? Use your own judgment. 

u Eve. — Let me see — had I best use it, or not] 
What can be more beautiful than this apple? How 
sweetly it smells ! But it may be it tastes ill. 

" Serp. — Believe me, it is a bit worthy to be eaten 
by the angels themselves; do but try, and if it tastes 
ill, throw it away. 

" Eve. — Well, I'll try. It has, indeed, a most agree- 
able flavor. Give me another that I may carry it to 
my husband. 

" Serp. — Very well thought on ; here's another for 
you : go to your husband with it. Farewell, happy 
young woman. In the meantime I'll go my ways; let 
her take care of the rest. 

" Accordingly, Eve gave the apple to the too uxori- 
ous Adam, when immediately after their eating of it, 
they became both (1 don't know how) ashamed of 
their nakedness, and sewing fig leaves together, mak- 
ing themselves a sort of aprons, etc. After these trans- 
actions, God, in the evening, descended into the gar- 
den, upon which our first parents fled to hide them- 
selves in the thickest of the trees, but in vain, for God 
called out, 'Adam, where art thoul' When he, trem- 
bling, appeared before God Almighty, and said, Lord, 
when I heard thee in this garden, I was ashamed be- 
cause of my nakedness, and hid myself amongst the 
most shady parts of the thicket. Who told thee, says 
God, that thou wast naked ? Have you eaten of the 
forbidden fruit! That woman thou gavest me brought 



272 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



it; 'twas she that made me eat of it. You have, says 
God, finely ordered your business, you and your wife. 
Here, you woman, what is this that you have done I 
Alas ! fur me, says Adam, thy serpent gave me the 
apple, and I did eat of it. 

u This apple shall cost you dear, replied God, and 
not only you, but your posterity, and the whole race 
of mankind. Moreover, for this crime, f will curse 
and spoil the heavens, the earth, and the whole fabric 
of nature. But thou, in the first place, vile beast, 
shall bear the punishment of thy craftiness and malice. 
Hereafter shall thou go creeping on thy belly, and 
instead of eating apples, shall lick the dust of the 
earth. As for you, Mrs. Curious, who so much love 
delicacies, in sorrow shall you bring forth your chil- 
dren. You shall 1 be subject to your husband, and shall 
never depart from his side unless having first obtained 
leave. Lastly, as for you, Adam, because you have 
hearkened more to your wife than to me, with the 
sweat of your brow shall you obtain both food for her 
and her children. You shall not gather fruits which, 
as heretofore, grew of themselves, but shall reap the 
fruits of the earth with labor and trouble. May the 
earth be, for thy sake, accursed — hereafter grow bar- 
ren. May she produce thistles, thorns, tares, with 
other hurtful and unprofitable herbs, and when thou 
hast here led a troublesome, laborious life, dust thou 
art, to dust shalt thou return 

" Great is the force of custom and a* preconceived 
opinion over human minds. Wherefore, these short 
observations of the first originals of men or things, 
which we receive from Moses, are embraced without 
the least examination of them. But had we read the 
same doctrine in a Greek philosopher, or in a Rabbini- 
cal or Mahometan doctor, we should have stopped at 
every sentence with our mind full of objections and 
scruples. Now, this difference does not arise from the 
nature of the thing itself, but from the great opinion 
we have of the authority of the writer ' as being di- 
vinely inspired.' The author here defines his ideas in 



THOMAS BURNET. 



273 



reference to fabulous writings, after which he proceeds 
in his inquiry. 1 But out of what matter the first of 
mankind, whether, male or female, was composed, is 
not so easily known. If God had a mind to make a 
woman start from one of Adam's ribs, it is true it 
seems to be a matter not very proper; but, however, 
out of wood, stone, or any other being God can make 
a woman ; and here, by the bye, the curious ask 
whether this rib was useless to Adam, and beyond the 
number requisite in a complete body. If not, when 
it was taken away, Adam would be a maimed person, 
and robbed of a part of himself that was necessary. I 
say necessary, for as much, as I suppose, that in the 
fabric of a human body nothing is superfluous, and 
that no one bone can be taken away without endang- 
ering the whole, or rendering it, in some measure, im- 
perfect. But if, on the other side, you say this rib 
was really useless to Adam, and might be spared, so 
that you make him to have only twelve ribs on one 
side and thirteen on the other, they will reply that 
this is like a monster, as much as if the first man had 
been created with three feet, or three hands, or had 
had more eyes, or other members, than the use of a 
human body requires. But in the beginning we can- 
not but suppose that all things were made with all im- 
aginable exactness. 

" For my part, L do not pretend to decide this dis- 
pute, but what more perplexes me is, how, out of one 
rib, the whole mass of a woman's body could be built? 
For a rib does not, perhaps, equal the thousandth part 
of an entire body. If you answer that the rest of the 
matter was taken from elsewhere, certainly, then, Eve 
might much more truly be said to have been formed 
out of that borrowed matter, whatever it was, than out 
of Adam's rib. I know that the RabBinical doctors 
solve this business quite another way, for they say the 
first man had two bodies, the one male, the othei 
female, who were joined together, and that God hav- 
ing cloven* them asunder, gave one side to Adam for 
a wife, Plato has, in his 1 Symposium/ something 



274 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



very like this story, concerning his first man, Anoro- 
ginus, who was afterwards divided into two parts, 
male and female. Lastly, others conjecture that Moses 
gave out this original of woman to the end that he 
might inspire a mutual love between the two sexes, 
as parts of one and the same whole, so as more effect- 
ually to recommend his own institution of marriage. 
But leaving this subject, I will hasten to some- 
thing else. 

" Now, the second article treats of God's garden in 
Eden, watered with four rivers arising from the same 

spring Those rivers are, by Moses, called Pishon, 

Gishon, Hiddekal, and Perath, which the ancient au- 
thors interpret by Ganges, Nile, Tigris, and Euphrates. 
Nor do I truly think without some reason, for Moses 
seems to have proposed nothing more than the bring- 
ing four of the most celebrated rivers of the whole 
earth to the watering of his garden. Ah ! but, say 
you, these four rivers do not spring from the same 
source, or come from the same place ; 'tis true, nor 
any other four rivers that are named by the interpre- 
ters. Wherefore this objection will everywhere hold 
good, as well against the ancient as modern writers. — 
But although you should reduce these rivers to only 
two, as some do, to Tigris and Euphrates, yet neither 
have these two rivers the same fountain-head, but this 
is really and truly an evasion, instead of an explana- 
tion, to reduce, contrary to the history of Moses, a 
greater number of rivers to a smaller, only that they 
may the more conveniently be reduced to the same 
spring; for these are the words of Moses, 1 But theie 
comes a river out of Eden to water the garden, and 
from thence it divides itself into four branches, the 
name of the first is Pishon,' etc.. whereby it is appa- 
rent that either in the exit or in the entrance of the 
garden there were four rivers, and that these four riv- 
ers did one and all proceed from the same fountain- 
head in Eden. Now, pray tell me in what part of the 
earth is this country of Eden, where four fivers arise 
from one and the same spring? But do not go about 



THOMAS BURNET. 



275 



to say that only two came from that fountain of Eden, 
and that the other two arose from the Tigris or the Eu- 
phrates, where they split near the sea, and make, as it 
were, a bilrontic figure, since this does by no means 
answer the words of Moses. Besides, he mentions in 
the first place Pishon and Gishon, and afterwards Ti- 
gris and Euphrates as lesser rivers ; whereas you, on 
the contrary, will have those to be derived from these 
last as rivers of an inferior order, which is a manifest 
distorting of the historical account. But to end all 
these difficulties concerning the channels of the rivers 
which watered Paradise, you will, perhaps, at last s >y 3 
that the springs, as well as the courses of rivers, have 
been changed by the universal deluge : and that we 
cannot now be certain where it was they burst over the 
earth, and what countries they passed through. For 
my part 1 am much of your opinion, providing you con- 
fess there happened in the deluge such a disruption of 
the earth as we suppose there did. But from only an 
inundation of waters such a change could never flap- 
per. Besides, what geography will you have Moses to 
describe these rivers, ante-diluvian or post-diluvian 1 — 
If the latter, there has happened no considerable alter- 
ation of ttie earth since the time of Moses and the 
flood. If the former, you then render Moses's descrip- 
tion of the earth totally superfluous and unuseful to 
discover the situation of Paradise. Lastly, it is hard 
to conceive that any rivers, whether these or others, 
can have subsisted ever since the first beginning of the 
world ,• whether you have regard to their water or their 
channels. The channels of rivers are made by daily 
attrition ] for if they had been made as ditches and fur- 
rows are, by earth dug out and heaped on each side, 
there would certainly have been seen everywhere great 
banks of earth. But w T e plainly see that this is only 
fortuitous ; forasmuch as they often run through plains, 
and the river banks are no more than levei with the 
adjacent fields \ besides, whence could there be had 
water at the beginning of the world to fiii these chan- 
nels ? If you say, that on the third day, when the 



276 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



great bed of the ocean was made, the smaller channels 
of the rivers were also; and as the gieatest part of the 
waters of the abyss fell into the gulf of the seas, so 
the remaining part descended into these other chan- 
nels, and therewith formed the primitive rivers. Ad- 
mitting this, yet the waters would not only be as salt 
as those of the sea, but there would be no continual 
springs to nourish these rivers; insomuch as when the 
first stream of water had flown off, there being no fresh 
supplies of water to succeed it, these rivers would have 
been immediately dried up; I say because there were 
no perpetual springs; for whether springs proceed from 
rain, or from the sea, they could neither way have rose 
in so short a time ; not from rain, for it had not as yet 
rained ; neither was it possible, that in the short space 
of one day, the waters of the abyss should run down 
from the most inland places to the sea, and afterwards 
returning through ways that were never yet open to 
them, should strain themselves through the bowels uf 
the earth, and ascend to the heads of their rivers. But 
of rivers we have said enough; let us now proceed to 
the rest. 

" We have, in the third place, a very strange ac- 
count of a serpent that talked with Eve, and enticed 
her to oppose God. I must , confess, we have not yet 
known that this beast could ever speak, or utter any 
sort of voice, beside hissing. But what shall we think 
Eve knew of this business] If she had taken it for a 
dumb animal, the very speech of it would have so 
frightened her, that she would have fled from it. If, 
on the other side, the serpent had from the beginning 
been capable of talking and haranguing, and only lost 
his speech for the crime of having corrupted the faith 
of Eve, certainly Moses would have been far from pass- 
ing over in silence this sort of punishment, and only 
mentioning the curse of licking the dust. Besides this, 
will you have the particular species of serpents, or all 
the beasts in Paradise, to have been imbued with the 
faculty of speaking, like the trees in Dodona's grove 1 
If you say all, pray what offence had the rest been 



THOMAS BURNET. 



277 



guilty of, that they also should lose the use of their 
tongues! If only the serpent enjoyed this privilege, 
how came it about that so vile an animal (by nature 
the most reverse and remote from man) should, before 
all his other fellow brutes, deserve to be master of so 
great a favor and benefit as that of speech 1 

" Lastly, since all discoursing and arguing includes 
the use of reason, by this very thing you make the ser- 
pent a rational creature. But I imagine you will solve 
this difficulty another way • for (say the sticklers for a 
literal interpretation) under the disguise of a serpent 
was hid the Devil, or an evil spirit, who, using the 
mouth and organs of this animal, spoke to the woman 
as though it were a human voice. But what testimony 
or what authority have they for this ? The most literal 
reading of Moses, which they so closely adhere to, does 
not express anything of it; for what else does he seem 
to say, but that he attributes the seducing of Eve to 
the natural craftiness of the serpent, and nothing else] 
For these are Moses's words : — 1 Now the serpent w T as 
more cunning than any beast of the field that the^Lord 
God had made. 7 Afterwards, continues he: — 'The 
serpent said to the woman, yea, hath God said,' etc. — 
Bat besides, had Eve heard an animal, by nature dumb, 
speak through the means of some evil spirit, she would 
instantly have fled with horror from the monster. — 
When, on the contrary, she very familiarly received 
it; they argued very amicably together, as though 
nothing new or astonishing had taken place. Again, 
if you say that all this proceeded from the ignorance 
or weakness of a woman, it would on the other side 
have been but just, that some good angels should have 
succoured a poor, ignorant, weak woman ; those just 
guardians of human affairs would not have permitted 
so unequal a conflict; for what if an evil spirit, crafty 
and knowing in business, had, by his subtlety, over- 
reached a poor, weak, and silly woman, who had not 
as yet, either seen the sun rise or set, who was but 
newly born, and thoroughly inexperienced. Certainly, 
a person who had so great a price set upon her head, 
24 



278 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



as the salvation of all mankind, might well have de- 
served a guard of angels. Aye. but perhaps (you will 
say) the woman ought to have taken care not to violate 
a law established on pain of death. 4 The day you eat 
of it you shall surely die/ both you and yours; this 
was the law. Die ' what does that mean, says the 
poor, innocent virgin, who as yet had not seen anything 
dead. no. not so much as a flower; nor had yet with 
her eyes or mind perceived the image of death — viz . 
sleep, or night I But what you add concerning his pos- 
terity and their punishment, that is not all expressed 
in the law. Now no laws are ever to be distorted, es- 
pecially those that are penal. The punishment of the 
serpent will also afford no inconsiderable question, if 
the Devil transacted the whole thing under the form of 
a serpent ; or if he compelled the serpent to do, or to 
suffer things, why did he (the serpent) pay for a crime 
committed by the Devii ] Moreover, as to the manner 
and form of the punishment inflicted on the serpent, 
that from tnat time he should go creeping on his belly, 
it is not to be explained what that meant. Hardly any 
one will say. that prior to his catastrophe the serpent 
walked upright, like fuur footed beasts; and if, from 
the beginning, he crept on his belly like other snakes, 
it may seem ridiculous to impose on tnis creature as a 
punishment for one single crime, a thing which, by 
nature, he ever had before. But let this suffice for the 
woman and serpent: let us now go on to the trees. I 
here understand those two trees, which stood in the 
middle of the garden, the tree of life, and the tree of 
good and evil. The former so called, that it would 
give men a reiy long life, although, by what follows, 
we find our forefathers, prior to the flood, lived to very 
great ages, independent of the tree of life. Besides, 
if the longevity, or immonality of man had depended 
only upon one tree, or its fruit, what if Adam had not 
sinned 1 how could his poster::), diffused throughout 
the whole earth, have been able to come and gather 
fruit out of this garden, or from this tree ? or how could 



THOMAS BURNET. 



279 



the product of one tree have been sufficient for all man- 
kind ? » 

Such is a condensed abstract of Dr. Burnet's seventh 
chapter of " Archceologia." The eighth chapter equals 
the above in boldness; but far exceeds it in breadth of 
logic and critical acumen, without, however, appear- 
ing so iconoclastic or so vulgar. The next chapter 
abounds in classical quotations, the Creation oi the 
world and the Deluge is the theme on which so much 
is advanced, at a time when such language was greet- 
ed with the stake and the prison. We cannot calcu- 
late the effect of Burnet's works on the clerical mind ; 
but this we do know, that since his day, there has pro- 
gressed an internal revolution in the tenets of the 
church, which, in the last generation, gave birth to 
the neology, now so destructive of the internal peace 
of the churches. Neology has not come from Deism, 
for this power assails the outworks of Christianity ; 
while the school of criticism is but a severe pruning 
knife of internal verbiage. Although the language 
quoted is harsh, the arguments common-place, which, 
although true, are now discarded by the educated 
Freethinker j yet if for no stronger language than this 
men were imprisoned only ten years ago, what must 
we say to the moral courage which could publish them 
150 years ago! There must surely have been greater 
risks than in our day; and when a man dare hazard 
the highest power of the church for the duty of pub- 
lishing unpopular sentiments, it is clearly our duty to 
enshrine him as one of the guardians of that liberty of 
thought and speech, which have won for us a freedom 
we cherish and protect. Let the earth then lie lightly 
over the priest-Freethinker, Thomas Burnet. A. C. 



BIOGRAPHY 



OF 



THOMAS PAINE. 



" The wise by some centuries before the crowd, 
Must, by their novel systems, though correct, 
Of course offend the wicked, weak, and proud, 
Must meet with hatred, calumny, neglect." 

Thomas Paine, " the sturdy champion of political 
and religious liberty," was born at Thetford, in the 
County of Norfolk, (Eng.,) 29th of January, 1737. Born 
of religious parents (his father being a Quaker, and his 
mother a member of the Church of England.) Paine 
received a religious education at Thetford Grammar 
School, under the Rev. William Knowles. At an early 
age he gave indications of his great talent, and found 
pleasure, when a boy, in studying poetical authors. 
His parents, however, endeavored to check his taste 
for poetry, his father probably thinking it would unfit 
him for the denomination to which he belonged. But 
Paine did not lose much time before experimenting in 
poetry himself. Hence we find him, when eight years 
of age, composing the following epitaph, upon a fly 
being caught in a spider's web : — 

li He're lies the body of John Crow, 
Who once was high, but now i3 low ; 
Ye brother Crows take warning all, 
For as you rise, so you must fall/' 

24* 



282 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



At the age of thirteen, after receiving a moderate 
education in reading, writing, and arithmetic, Paine 
left school, to follow his father's trade (stay-making.) 
Although disliking the business, he pursued this avoca- 
tion for nearly five years. When about twenty years 
of age, however, he felt — as most enterprising young 
men do feel— a desire to visit London, and enter into 
the competition and chances of a metropolitan life. 
His natural dislike to his father's business led him to 
abandon for a period his original occupation, and, after 
working some time with Mr. Morris, a noted stay-mak- 
er, in Long Acre, he resolved upon a seafaring adven- 
ture, of which he thus speaks : — 

" At an early age, raw, adventurous, and heated with 
the false heroism of a master [Rev. Mr. Knowles, Mas- 
ter of the Grammar School at ThetfordJ who had serv- 
ed in a man-of-war, I began my fortune, and entered 
on board the Terrible, Captain Death. From this ad- 
venture T was happily prevented by the affectionate 
and moral remonstrances of a good father, who from 
the habits of his life, being of the Quaker profession, 
looked on me as lost; but the impression, much as it 
affected me at the time, wore away, and I entered 
afterwards in the King of Prussia privateer. Captain 
Mender, and went with her to sea." 

Sea life did not, as may be supposed, long satisfy a 
mind like Paiue's. In April, 1759, after working near- 
ly twelve months at Dover, we find him settled as 
master stay-maker at Sandwich; marrying, on Septem- 
ber 27, Mary Lambert, daughter of an Exciseman of 
that place. But his matrimonial happiness was of 
short duration, his wife dying the following year. 

Disgusted with the toil and inconvenience of his 
late occupation, Paine now renounced it forever, to 
apply himself to the profession of Exciseman. After 
fourteen months 7 study he obtained the appointment of 
supernumerary in the Excise, which he held, with in- 
tervals, till 1768, when he settled as Exciseman at 
Lewes, in Sussex, and married, 1771. Elizabeth Olive, 
daughter of a tobacconist, whose business he succeed- 



THOMAS PAINE. 



283 



ed to. About this time Paine wrote several little 
pieces, in prose and verse, among which was the cele- 
brated song on the " Death of General Wolfe,' and 
<• The Trial of Farmer Carter's Dog, Porter."' The 
latter i? a composition of " exquisite wit and humor." $ 

In 1772 the Excise officers throughout the kingdom 
were dissatisfied with their salaries, and formed a plan 
to apply to Parliament for an increase. Paine being 
distinguished among them as a man of great talent, 
was solicited to draw up and state their case, which 
he did in a pamphlet entitled ;; The Case of the Sala- 
ry of the Officers of Excise, and Thoughts on the Cor- 
ruption arising from the Poverty of Excise Officers/ 7 
Four thousand copies of this pamphlet were printed and 
circulated. Some time after this publication, Paine, 
being in the grocery business, was suspected of unfair 
practice?, and was dismissed the Excise, after being 
in it twelve years. This suspicion, however, was never 
shown to be just. But to show how very vigorous the 
authorities were in suppressing smugaling, we will 
quote the following letter from Clio Rickman to the 
Editor of the Independent Whig, in October, 1807 : — 

u Sir, — If there are any characters more to be ab- 
horred than others, it is those who inflict severe pun- 
ishments against offenders, and yet themselves com- 
mit the same crimes. 

<; [f any characters more than others deserve exe- 
cration, exposure, and to be driven from among man- 
kind, it is those governors of the people who break the 
laws they themselves make, and punish others for 
breaking. 

" Suffer me, Mr. Editor, thus to preface the following 
fact ; fact, I say, because I stand ready to prove it so. 

" When Admiral Duncan rendezvoused in the Downs 
with his fleet, on the 8th of January,^ 1806, the Spider 
lugger, Daniel Falara, master, was sent to Guernsey 
to smuggle articles for the fleet, such as wine, spirits, 
hair powder, playing cards, tobacco, etc., for the sup- 
ply of the different ships. 

" At her arrival in the Downs, the ships* boats flock 



284 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



ed round her to unload her and her contraband cargo. 
A Custom House extra boat, commanded by William 
Wallace, seeing the lugger, followed and took her; in 
doing which he did his duty. 
% u On his inspecting the smuggled articles with which 
she was laden, he found a number of cases directed to 
Admiral Duncan, the Right Honorable William Pitt, 
the heaven-born Minister of England, and to the Right 
Honorable Henry Dundas, Walmer Castle. In a few 
days, Wallace, the master of the Custom House cutter, 
received orders from Government to give the lugger 
.and her smuggled cargo up, on penalty of being dis- 
missed the service; and these cases of smuggled 
goods were afterwards delivered at the Prime Minis- 
ter's, Mr. Pitt, at Walmer Castle. 

" Mr. Editor, read what follows, and repress your 
indignation if you can. 

" There are now in Deal jail fourteen persons for 
trifling acts of smuggling compared to the above of 
the Right Honorable William Pitt and the now Right 
Honorable Lord Melville. 

" The former were poor, and knew not how to live, 
the latter were most affluently and splendidly support- 
ed by the people — that is, they were paupers upon the 
generous public, towards whom they thus scandalous- 
ly and infamously conducted themselves. 

u I am, Sir, your humble servant,, 

Clio Rickman." 

To those opponents of Thomas Paine who attach 
any weight to his dismissal from the Excise on suspi- 
cion of smuggling, we would mention the fact, that 
during Paine's service at Lewes, Mr. Jenner, the prin- 
cipal clerk in the Excise Office, London, wrote several 
letters from the Board of Excise, " thanking Mr. Paine 
for his assiduity in his profession, and for his informa- 
tion and calculations forwarded to the office." Shortly 
after his dismissal, Mr. Paine and his wife, by mutual 
agreement, separated. Many tales have been put in 
circulation respecting the separation. Clio Rickman, 
in his " Life of Paine," has the following passage : — 



THOMAS PAINE. 



285 



u That he did not cohabit with her from the moment 
they left the altar till the day of their separation, a 
space of three years, although ihey lived in the same 
nouse together, is an indubitable truth. It is also true, 
that no physical defect, on the part of Mr. Paine, cspi 

be adduced as a reason for such conduct Mr. Paine's 

answer, upon my once referring to this subject, was, 
f It is nobody's business but my own : I had cause for 

it, but I will name it to no one. ? This I can assert, 

that Mr. Paine always spoke tenderly and respectfully 
of his wife ; and sent her several times pecuniary aid, 
without her knowing even whence it came." 

In 1774 Paine left England, and arrived at Philadel- 
phia a few months before the battle of Lexington. He 
made his appearance in the New World as editor of 
the Pennsylvanian Magazine ; and it woald appear 
that he then had in view the coming struggle, in 
which he took so prominent a part, for in his introduc- 
tion to the first number of the above Magazine he 
states : — " Thus encompassed with difficulties, this 
first number of the Pennsylvanian Magazine entreats 
a favorable reception ; of which we shall only say, that 
like the early snowdrop, it comes forth in a barren 
season, and contents itself with foretelling the reader 
that choicer flowers are preparing to appear." Upon 
the foreign supply of gunpowder being prohibited, he 
proposed a plan, in the Pennsylvanian Journal, of a 
saltpetre association for the voluntary supply of that 
article of destruction. 

On the 10th of January, 1776, " Common Sense " 
was published, its circulation soon reaching 100,000 
copies. The effect this remarkable pamphlet produc- 
ed upon the minds of the American people, and the 
share it had in bringing to a successful issue the then 
pending struggle, may be gathered even from Paine's 
bitterest enemies. Mr. Cheetham, in his " Life of 
Paine, " while endeavoring to damage the author of 
^ Common Sense," admits the value of this pamphlet. 
He says : — u This pamphlet of forty octavo pages, hold- 
ing out relief by proposing Independence to an op- 



286 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



pressed and despairing people, was published in Janu- 
ary, 1776 \ speaking a language which the colonists 
had felt, but not thought of. Its popularity, terrible in 
its consequences to the parent country, was unexam- 
pled in the history of the press. At first involving the 
colonists, in the crime of rebellion, and pointing to a 
road leading inevitably to ruin, it was read with in- 
dignation and alarm ; but when the reader — and every 
one read it — recovering from the first shock, re-perused 
it, its arguments nourishing his feelings and appealing 
to his pride, re-animated his hopes, and satisfied his un- 
derstanding that ' Common Sense/ backed by the re- 
sources and force of the colonies, poor and feeble as 
they were, could alone rescue them from the unquali- 
fied oppression with which they were threatened. The 
unknown author, in the moments of enthusiasm which 
succeeded, was an angel sent from heaven to save 
from all the horrors of slavery by his timely, powerful, 
and unerring councils, a faithful but abused, a brave 
but misrepresented people. 57 Another of Paine's ene- 
mies and slanderers — Elkanah Watson — in a volume 
recently published, entitled " Men and Times of the 
Revolution, ;? after speaking in very disparaging terms 
of Paine's appearance, habits, and disposiiion (which 
is proved false by the best of testimony,) admits the 
service rendered to America by " Common Sense. J? 
He says : — " Yet I could not repress the deepest emo- 
tions of gratitude towards him, as the instrument of 
Providence in accelerating the declaration of our In- 
dependence. He certainly was a prominent agent in 
preparing the public sentiment of America for that 
glorious event. The idea of Independence had not oc- 
cupied the popular mind, and w T hen guardedly ap- 
proached on the topic, it shrunk from the conception, 
as fraught with doubt, with peril, and with suffering. 
In 1776 I was present at Providence, Rhode Island, in 
a social assembly of most of the prominent leaders of 
the State. I recollect that the subject of Independence 
was cautiously introduced by an ardent Whig, and the 
thought seemed to excite the abhorrence of the whole 



THOMAS PAINE. 



287 



circle. A few weeks after, Paine's c Common Sense ' 
appeared, and passed through the continent like an 
electric spark. It everywhere flashed conviction, and 
aroused a determined spirit, which resulted in the De- 
claration of Independence, upon the 4th of July ensu- 
ing. The name of Paine was precious to every Whig 
heart, and had resounded throughout Europe.' 7 Other 
testimony could be given to Paine's influence in the 
American struggle for Independence • but after the 
two already mentioned from his opponents, it is un- 
necessary to give further proof. 

In the same year that u Common Sense " appeared, 
Paine accompanied General Washington and his army, 
being with him in his retreat from Hudson River to 
the Delaware. Although great terror prevailed, Paine 
stood brave and undismayed, conscious he was advo- 
cating a just cause, and determined to bring it to a 
successful issue. He occupied himself in inspiring 
hope in the Americans, showing them their strength 
and their weakness. This object drew from his pen 
" The Crisis," a continuation of the " Common Sense," 
which was issued at intervals till the cessation of hos- 
tilities. 

In 1777 Paine was unanimously, and unknown to 
himself, appointed Secretary in the Foreign Depart- 
ment, where he formed a close friendship with Dr. 
Franklin. He did not retain his office, however, long, 
as he refused to become a party to the fraudulent 
demands of a Mr. Silas Deane, one of the American 
Commissioners, then in Europe; and he resigned the 
office. 

In 1780 he was chosen member of the American 
Philosophical Society, having previously received the 
degree of Master of Arts from the University of Phila- 
delphia. 

When the Independence of America was attained, 
and when oppression had received a severe and lasting 
check in that rising country, we find that Paine, so 
far from being satisfied with his success in the New 
World, began to look for a fresh field where he might 



288 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



render good service to the cause of right and freedom. 
Accordingly, in 1787. he visited Paris, his famous ser- 
vices to America giving him a welcome by those who 
knew the benefit arising from the establishment of 
human rights. His stay in Paris, at this time, was of 
short duration, as he returned to England after an 
absence of thirteen years, on September 3rd. After 
visiting his mother, and settling an allowance of nine 
shillings per week for her support, he resided for a 
short time at Rotherham, in Yorkshire, where an iron 
bridge was cast and erected upon a model of his in- 
vention, which obtained him great reputation for his 
mathematical skill. 

The publication of u Mr. Burke's Reflections on the 
French Revolution ?; called from Paine his <: Rights of 
Man," a book that created great attraction, and sold 
nearly a million and a half of copies. In politics Paine 
was clear and decided, and, from his moderation, what 
is called " sound." For the perusal of those who may 
not have read it, we give the following quotations, to 
show the principles upon which it is based : — 

" Mr. Burke talks about what he calls an hereditary 
crown, as if it were some production bf nature; or as 
if, like time, it had a power to operate, not only inde- 
pendently, but in spite of man ; or as if it were a thing 
or a subject universally consented to. Alas ! it has 
none of those properties, but is the reverse of them 
all. It is a thing in imagination, the property of which 
is more than doubted, and the legality of which in a 
few years will be denied. But, to arrange this matter 
in a clearer view than what general expressions can 
convey, it will be necessary to state the distinct heads 
under which (what is called) an hereditary crown, or, 
more properly speaking, an hereditary succession to 
the government of a nation, can be considered ) which 
are, first, the right of a particular family to establish 
itself ; secondly, the right of a nation to establish a 
particular family. With respect to the first of the^e 
heads, that of a family establishing itself with heredi- 
tary powers on its own authority, and independent of 



THOMAS PAINE. 



289 



the consent of a nation, all men will concur in calling 
it despotism : and it would be trespassing on their 
understanding to attempt to prove it. But the second 
head, that of a nation establishing a particular family 
with hereditary 'powers, does not present itself as des- 
potism on the first reflection ; but if men will permit 
a second reflection to take place, and carry that re- 
flection forward but one remove out of their own per- 
sons to that of their offspring, they will then see that 
hereditary succession becomes in its consequences the 
• same despotism to others, which they reprobated for 

themselves. It operates to preclude the consent of the 
succeeding generations; and the preclusion of consent 
is despotism. When the person who at any time shall 
be in possession of a government, or those w T ho stand 
in succession to him, shall say to a nation, I hold this 
power in 1 contempt' of you, it signifies not on what 
authority he pretends to say it. It is no relief, but an 
aggravation to a person in slavery, to reflect that he 
was sold by his parent; and as that which heightens 
the criminality of an act cannot be produced to prove 
the legality of it, hereditary succession cannot be 

established as a legal thing Notwithstanding the 

taxes of England amount to almost seventeen millions 
a year, said to be for the expenses of Government, it is 
still evident that the sense of the nation is left to gov- 
ern itself by magistrates and jurors, almost at its own 
charge, on Republican principles, exclusive of the ex- 
pense of taxes. The salaries of the judges are almost 
the only charge that is paid out of the revenue. Con- 
sidering that all the internal government is executed 
by the people, the taxes of England ought to be the 
lightest of any nation in Europe ; instead of which, 
they are the contrary. As this cannot be accounted 
for on the score of civil government, the subject nec- 
essarily extends itself to the monarchical part If a 

law be bad, it is one thing to oppose the practice of it, 
but it is quite a different thing to expose its errors, to 
reason on its defects, and show cause why it should 
be repealed, or why another ought to be substituted 

25 



290 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



in its place. I have always held it an opinion (making 

it also my practice) that it is better to obey a bad law, 
making use at the same time of every argument to 
show its errors and procure its repeal, than forcibly to 
violate it; because the precedent of breaking a bad 
law might weaken the force, and lead to a discretion- 
ary violation, of those which are good." 

As may be supposed, such a work as " The Rights 
of Man," aiming directly at all oppression, regardless 
of party, could not be allowed to escape the Attorney- 
General's answer. Accordingly, we find a prosecution • 
instituted against it. But instead of prosecuting the 
author, the publishers were selected. This drew from 
Paine a iong Letter to the Attorney-General, suggest- 
ing the justice of his answering for the book he wrote. 
On the trial, Mr. (afterwards Lord) Erskine thus spoke 
of the author of " The Rights of Man : "— " The de- 
fendant's whole deportment previous to the publication 
has been wholly unexceptionable; he properly desired 
to be given up as the author of the book, if any inquiry 
should take place concerning it ; and he is not affected 
in evidence, directly or indirectly, with any illegal or 
suspicious conduct, not even with uttering an indis- 
creet or taunting expression, nor with any one matter 
or thing inconsistent with the best subject in England." 

On the 12th of September, 1792, Mr. Achilles Audi- 
bert came expressly to England, from the French Con- 
vention, to solicit Paine to attend and aid them, by his 
advice, in their deliberations. " On his arrival at Calais 
a public dinner was provided, a royal salute was fired 
from the battery, the troops were drawn out, and there 

was a general rejoicing throughout the town Paine 

was escorted to the house of his friend, Mr. Audibert, 
the Chief Magistrate of the place, where he was visited 
by the Commandant, and all the Municipal Officers in 
forms, who afterwards gave him a sumptuous entertain- 
ment in the Town Hall. The same honor was also paid 
him on his departure for Paris." Upon his arrival in 
Paris all was confusion. There were the King's friends 
mortified and subdued, the Jacobins split up into cav- 



THOMAS PAINE. 



291 



illing faction, some wishing a federative government, 
some desiring the King's death, and the death of all 
the nobility ; while a portion were more discreet, wish- 
ing liberty without licentiousness, and having a desire 
to redress wrongs without revenge. These few accept- 
ed Paine as their leader, and renounced all connection 
with the Jacobin Club. 

Paine, on all occasions, advocated the preservation 
of the King's life ; but his efforts were thwarted by the 
appointment, by Robespierre, of Barrere to office. So 
anxiously was Paine sought after, that both Calais and 
Versailles returned him as Deputy. To show how the 
author of " The Rights of Man " opposed all physical 
force where reason may be used, it is only necessary 
to state, that when the Letter of Dumourier reached 
Paris with the threat of restoring the King, Paine wrote 
a letter to the Convention, stating a plan for re-adjust- 
ment, and was taking it personally, when he was in- 
formed " that a decree had just been passed offering 
one hundred thousand crowns for Dumourier's head ; 
and another, making it high treason to propose any- 
thing in his favor/' Whilst Deputy for Calais, Paine 
was sought and admired by all classes. He dined every 
Friday, for a long period, with the Earl of Lauderdale 
and Dr. Moore • and so frequent were his visitors, that 
he set apart two mornings a week for his levee days. — 
He soon, however, changed his residence, preferring 
less formality and a more select circle. His u History 
of the French Revolution " we are deprived of by 
his i-mprisonment, which Gibbon thought would prove 
a great loss. The historian often applied for the MS M 
believing it to be of great worth. The opinion Pain& 
held of the Revolution may be gathered lrom4he fol 
lowing :— With respect to the Revolution, it was be- 
gun by good men, on good principles, and I have ever 
believed it would have gone on so, had not the provo- 
cative interference of foreign powers distracted it into 
madness, and sown jealousies among the leaders. The 
people of England have now two Revolutions, the Am* 



292 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



erican and the French before them. Their own wis 
dom will direct 1hem what to choose and what to avoid, 
and in everything which relates to their happiness, 
combined with the common good of mankind, I wish 
them honor and success. 77 

His speech against the death of the King, shows 
how far he was removed from party spirit, or any feel- 
ing of revenge. Whilst he protested against the King 
being re-enthroned, he equally protested against his 
death, wishing him removed from the seat of his cor- 
ruption, and placed in a more elevating atmosphere. — 
Entreating for the King's safety, he says : — u Let then 
the United States be the safeguard and the asylum of 
Louis Capet. There, hereafter, far removed fiom the 
miseries and crimes of royalty, he may learn, from the 
constant aspect of public prosperity, that the true sys- 
tem of government consists in fair, equal, and honora- 
able representation. In relating this circumstance, and 
in submitting this proposition, I consider myself as a 
citizen of both countries. 77 

The policy pursued by Paine was not consonant with 
the views of Robespierre. Consequently, he was seized 
in the night and imprisoned in the Luxembourg eleven 
months, without any reason being assigned. The read- 
ers are doubtless aware of the many Providential es- 
capes he had from the death for which he was seized. 
While in prison he wrote part of his " Age of Reason,' 7 
(having commenced it just previous to his arrest) not 
knowing one hour but he might be executed, and once 
being on the verge of death from fever. He knew the 
prejudice the " Age of Reason 77 would create, so he 
left its production to the latter part of his life, not wish- 
ing to jjlake that an impediment to the good he sought 
to accomplish in the Political world. 

After toiling in France to bring the Revolution to a 
just termination, and finding his efforts rendered abor- 
tive by that feeling which former oppression had created, 
he resolved to return to America, a country he saw 
thriving by a policy he wished to institute in France. 



THOMAS PAINE. 



293 



In 1802, Jefferson, then President of America, knowing 
his wish to return, wrote him the following letter :— 

u You express a wish in your letter to return to Am- 
erica by a national ship. Mr. Dawson, who brings over 
the treaty, and who will present you with this letter, is 
charged with orders to the captain of the Maryland, to 
receive and accommodate you back if you can be ready 
to return at such a short warning. You will in general 
find us returned to sentiments worthy of former times; 
in these it will be your glory to have steadily labored, 
and with as much effect as any man living. That you 
may live long to continue your useful labors, and reap 
the reward in the thankfulness of nations, is my sin 
cere prayer. 

Accept the assurance of my high esteem and affec-- 
tionate attachment, Thomas Jefferson. ;; 

But circumstances prevented Paine going by the 
Maryland. He sailed, however, on the 1st of Septem- 
ber, «1802, in the London Pacquet. He had often pre- 
viously arranged to return to America, but luckily, 
Providence prevented him. One ship that he intended 
to sail by, was searched by English frigates for Thomas 
Paine, and another sunk at sea, whilst at other times 
British frigates were cruising off the ports from which 
he was to sail, knowing him to be there. 

So much religious misrepresentation has been circu- 
lated about Paine's life and death, that it becomes a 
duty to restate the facts. The manner of life Paine 
pursued may be gathered from the reliable testimony 
of Clio Eickman. He says, u Mr. Paine's life in Lon- 
don was a quiet round of philosophical leisure and en- 
joyment. It was occupied in writing, in a smlkll epis- 
tolary correspondence, in walking about with me to 
visit different friends, occasionally lounging at coffee- 
houses and public places, <or being visited by a select 
few. Lord Edward Fitzgerald, the French and Ameri- 
can ambassadors, Mr. Sharp the engraver, Pvomney, 
the painter, Mrs. Wolstonecraft, Joel Barlow, Mr. HuilJ 
Mr. Christie, Dr. Priestley, Dr. Towers, Colonel Os- 
25* 



294 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



wald, the walking Stewart. Captain Sampson Perry, 
Mr. Tuffin, Mr. William Choppin, Captain De Stark, 
iSlr. Home Tooke, etc., were among the number of his 
friends and acquaintances." His manner of living in 
France and America has already been noticed. 

The perverted tales of Carver and Cheetham may 
be utterly disproved by referring to Clio Rickman's 
" Life of Paine.'' As his life, so was his death. When 
he became feeble and infirm (in Jan. 1809) he was 
often visited by those 11 good people " who so often 
intrude upon the domestic quiet of the afflicted. After 
the visit of an old woman, " come from the Almighty," 
(whom Paine soon sent back again) he was troubled 
with the Rev. Mr. Milledollar, arid the Rev. Mr. Cun- 
ningham. The latter reverend said, " Mr. Paine, we 
visit you as friends and neighbors : you have now a 
full view of death, you cannot live long; and whoever 
does not believe in Jesus Christ, will assuredly be 
damned." " Let me," said Paine, " have none of you: 
Popish stuff: get away with you; good morninsr, good 
morning." Another visitor was the Rev. Mr. Hargrove, 
with this statement: — "My name is Hargrove, Sir; I 
am minister of the new Jerusalem church ; we, Sir, 
explain the scripture in its true meaning ; the key has 
been lost these four thousand years, and we have found 
it." u Then," said Paine, in his own neat way, " it 
must have been very rusty." Shortly before his death, 
he stated to Mr. Hicks, to whom he had sent to arrange 
his burial, that his sentiments in reference to the Chris- 
tian religion were precisely the same as when he wrote 
the " Age of Reason." On the 8th of June, [in the 
words of Clio Rickman) 1809, about nine in the morn- 
ing, he placidly, and almost without a struggle, died, 
as he had lived, a Deist, aged seventy-two years and 
five months. He was interred at New Rochelle, upon 
his own farm : a handsome monument being now erect- 
ed where he was buried. 

It has been the object in the present sketch rather to 
give, in a brief manner, an account of Paine's Jtfe and 
services, than an elucidation of his writings. His works 



THOMAS PAINE. 



295 



are well known, and they will speak for themselves ; 
but much wrong is done to his memory by the perver- 
sions and misrepresentations of the religious publica- 
tions. No doubt had his views been different on " re- 
ligious*' subjects, he would have been held up as a 
model of genius, perseverance, courage, disinterested- 
ness of purpose, and purity of life ; by the men who 
now find him no better name than the " Blasphemer.*' 
We hope that those not previously acquainted with the 
facts of his life, will find in the present sketch suffi- 
cient reason to think and speak otherwise of a man 
who made the world his country, and the doing good 
his religion. 

" As Euclid clear his various writings shone. 

His pen inspired by glorious truth alone, 

O'er all the earth diffusing light and life, 

Subduing error, ignorance, and strife ; 

Raised man to just pursuits, to thinking right, 

And yet will free the world from woe and falsehood's night ; 

To this immortal man, to Paine 'twas given, 

To metamorphose earth from hell to heaven." 

J. w. 



BIOGRAPHY 

OF 

BAPTISTS DE MIRABAUD. 



Jean Baptiste de Mirabaud was born at Paris, in 
the year 1675. Of his early life we can glean but 
very scanty information. He appears first to have em- 
braced the military profession, but it not being con- 
sonant with his general character, he soon quitted the 
army, and devoted himself to literature. He was, 
however, nearly forty-nine years of age before he be- 
came known in the literary world. He then published 
a French translation of Tasso's " Jerusalem, 77 which 
brought him much fame ; and many of the contribu- 
tors to the French Encyclopaedia appear to have asso- 
ciated with him, and courted his friendship. He was 
afterwards elected a member of the French Academy, 
of which he became the Secretary in 1742. Mirabaud 
was a constant visitor at the house of his friend, the 
Baron d'Holbach, down t'o the period of his death. He 
wrote " The World : its Origin and its Antiquity, 77 
" Opinions of the Ancients upon the Jews, 77 "Senti- 
ments of the Philosophers upon the Nature of the 
Soul, 77 and other minor works. The " System of Na- 
ture 77 was also for many years attributed to Mirabaud, 
but it appears now to be extremely doubtful whether 
he ever wrote a single line of the work. The Abbe 
Galiani was one of the first who pointed out D'Holbach 
as the author. In the memoirs of M. Suard, edited by 
M. Garat, the same hypothesis is supported with ad- 
ditional firmness. Dugald Stewart seems to put much 
faith in the latter authority, as fixing the authorship of 
the " System of Nature 77 upon D 7 Holbach. Voltaire 
attributes the work to Damilaville, in a somewhat 
positive manner, for which he is sharply criticised in 
the " Biographie Universelle, 77 published in 1817. The 



298 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



" System of Nature " is a book of which Dugald Stew- 
art speaks, as u the boldest, if not the ablest work of 
the Parisian Atheists/' 5 and it has undoubtedly obtain- 
ed great popularity. Voltaire, who has written against 
the " System of Nature " in a tone of bitter sarcasm, 
and who complains of its general dullness and prolixi- 
ty, yet admits that it is " often humorous, sometimes 
eloquent. ;? It certainly is not written in that lively, 
but rather superficial style, which has characterized 
many of the French writers, but it speaks in plain yet 
powerful language, evincing an extensive acquaint- 
ance with the works of previous philosophers, and 
much thought in relation to the subjects treated upon. 
Some of its pages exhibiting more vivacity than the 
rest of the book, have been attributed to Diderot, who 
(it is alleged by Marmontel and others) aided, by his 
pen and counsel, many of the Freethinking works is- 
sued during his life. 

The " System of Nature " was not published during 
the life-time of Mirabaud, and it is therefore impossi- 
ble to use any argument which might have been based 
upon Mirabaud's conduct in relation to it. 

Mirabaud died in Paris in 1760, at the advanced aje 
of nearly eighty -six years. "Contemporary with him 
were D'Alembert, D'Holbach, Voltaire, Diderot, Hel- 
vetius, Condorcet, Buffon, Rousseau, Frederick II. of 
Prussia, Montesquieu, Grimm, Sir William Temple, 
Toland, Tindel, Edmund Halley, Hume, Gibbon, Adam 
Smith, Franklin, and Darwin, forming a role of names, 
whose fame will be handed down to posterity for cen- 
turies to come, as workers in the cause of man's re- 
demption from mental slavery. If (as it appears very 
probably) it be the fact that Mirabaud had but little 
part in the authorship of " La Systeme de la Nature, ?; 
D'Holbach, in using the name of his deceased friend, 
only associated him with a work which (judging from 
his other writings, the tenor of his life, and the noble 
character of his associates) Mirabaud would have issu- 
ed with pride himself, had the book been really writ- 
ten by him. 



BIOGRAPHY 



OF 

BARON D'HOLBACH. 



Paul Thyry, Baron D'Holbach, was born at Heide- 
sheim, in the Palatinate, in the month of January, 
1723. His father appears to have been a very wealthy 
man, and brought his son to Paris, for the purpose of 
superintending his education, but died while he was 
still a child. In his youth, D'Holbach appears to have 
been noted for his studious habits and retentive facul- 
ties, and ultimately attained to some eminence in 
chemistry and mineralogy. He married when very 
young, and he had not been married one year when 
his wife died. He afterwards obtained a dispensation 
from the Pope, and married his deceased wife's sister, 
by whom he had four children, two sons and two 
daughters. 

D"Holbach appeared to have spent the greater part 
of his life in Paris, and for forty years he assembled 
around his table, every Sunday, the elite of the literary 
world, including nearly the whole of those who took 
part in the first Encyclopaedia. If that table were only 
in the hands of some of our spirit friends of the present 
day, what brilliant anecdotes might it not rap out — 
the sparkling wit of Diderot, the good humor of our 
host, the hospitable and generous D'Holbach, the oc- 
casional bitterness of Jean Jacques Rousseau, the cau- 
tious expression of opinion by D'Alembert, the agree- 



300 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



able variety of Montesquieu, and the bold enthusiasm 
of the youthful but hardworking Naigeon ! If ever a 
table were inclined to turn, this table should have 
been \ but perhaps it may be that tables never turn 
when reason is the ruler of those who sit around. 

It seems more than probable that D'Holbach at first 
held opinions differing widely from those entertained 
by him during the later periods of his life, and it is 
asserted that Diderot contributed much to this change 
of opinion. D'Holbach was an amiable man of the 
world, fond of amusement, and without pretension ; 
he was, notwithstanding, well versed in Roman and 
Grecian literature, mathematics, chemistry, botany, 
and modern languages. He was generous to every 
one. " I content myself," he said, " with performing 
the disagreeable character of benefactor, when I am 
forced to it. I do not wish to be repaid my money ; 
but I am pleased when I meet with some little grati- 
tude, if it be only*as proving that the persons JLhave 
assisted were such sort of men as I desired." 

Although about forty-five works are now ascribed to 
D'Holbach, not one of them was published during his 
life-time in his own name. The manuscripts were 
taken to Amsterdam by Naigeon, and there printed 
by Michael Rey. D'Holbach never talked publicly of 
his literary productions himself, and his secrets seem 
to have been well kept by his friends. Several of the 
works were condemned and suppressed by the govern- 
ment • but D'Holbach lived unsuspected and unmo- 
lested. The expression used by the Avocat, General 
Seg % uier, in his requisitoire against the " System of 
Nature " is worthy of notice. The Avocat General 
said — " The restless spirit of Infidelity, inimical to all 
dependence, endeavors to overthrow all political con- 
stitutions. Its wishes will not be satisfied until it has 
destroyed the necessary inequality of rank and condi- 
tion, and until it has degraded the majesty of kings, 
and rendered their authority subordinate to the capri- 
ces of the rao&." Note the three words we have italic- 
ised. For the first read unnecessary; for the second, 



BARON d'hOLBACH. 



301 



voice ; for the third, peoples. We trust that Free- 
thought never will be satisfied until it has destroyed 
the unnecessary inequalities of rank and condition, 
and rendered it impossible for the authority of kings 
to be enforced in opposition to the voice of the people. 

The following description of D'Holbach is given in 
a little sketch, published by Mr. Watson in 1834. as 
taken from Grimnrs " Correspondence : ,J — u D'Hol- 
bach ; s features were, taken separately, regular, and 
even handsome, yet he was not a handsome man. His 
forehead, large and open, like that of Diderot, indi- 
cated a vast and capacious mind j but his forehead 
having fewer sinuosities, less roundness than Diderot's, 
announced less warmth, less energy, and less fecundi- 
ty of ideas. A craniologist would say that in both 
D'Holbach and Diderot, the philosophical organs were 
largely developed, but that Diderot excelled in ideali- 
ty • D'Holbachs countenance only indicated mildness, 
and the habitual sincerity of his mind. He was incapa- 
ble of personal hatred. Though he detested priests 
and Jesuits, and all other supporters of despotism and 
superstition; and though when speaking of such peo- 
ple, his mildness and good temper were sometimes 
transformed into bitterness and irritability : yet it is 
affirmed that when the Jesuits were expelled from 
France, D'Holbach regarded them as objects of com- 
miseration and of pity, and afforded them pecuniary 
assistance. 7 ' 

The titles of D'Holbach's works may be found in 
Barbier's " Dictionary of Anonymous Works," and in 
St. Surins's article in the " Biographie Universelle," 
so in the little tract before mentioned as published 
by J. Watson. D : Holbach contributed largely to the 
first French Encyclopaedia, and other works of a like 
character. Of the " System of Nature " we have al- 
ready spoken, and shall rather leave our readers to 
the work itself than take up more space in discussing 
its authorship. 

After having lived a life of comfort, in affluent cir- 
cumstances, and always surrounded by a large circle 
26 



302 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



of the best men of the day. D'Holbach died on Janua- 
ry the 2 1st. 1789. being then sixty-six years of age. 
The priests have never pictured to us any sceneof 
honor in relation to his dying moments. The good 
old man died cheered and supported in his last strug- 
gle by those men whom he had many times assisted 
in the hard fighting of the battle of life. J. A. Nai- 
geon, who had been his friend for thirty years, paid 
an eloquent tribute to DHolbachrs memory, in an 
article which appeared in the ''Journal de Paris'" of 
February the 9th, 1789, and we are not aware that 
any man has ever written anything against D r Hol- 
bacb's personal character. 

EXTRACTS FROM 11 THE SYSTEM OF NATURE. ' 

Although we may not atfempt to express a decided 
opinion as to the authorship of t; Le Systeme de la Na- 
ture.'* we feel it our duty to present some of its prin- 
cipal arguments 10 the consideration of our readers. 
The author opens his work with this passage : — 

"Man always deceives himself when he abandons 
experience to follow imaginary systems. He is the 
work of nature. He exists in nature. He is submitted 
to her laws. He cannot deliver himself from them. 
He cannot step beyond them even in thought. It is in 
vain his mind would spring forward beyond the visible 
world : an imperious necessity ever compels his re- 
turn — for a being formed by Nature, who is circum- 
scribed by her laws, there exists nothing beyond the 
great whole of which he forms a pait, of which he ex- 
periences the influence. The beings his imagination 
pictures as above Nature, or distinguished from her, 
are always chimeras formed after that which he has 
already seen, but of which it is utterly impossible he 
should ever form any correct idea, either as to the 
place they occupy, or their manner of acting — for him 
there is not, there can be nothing out of that nature 
which includes all beings. Instead, therefore, of seek- 
ing out of the world he inhabits for beings who can 
procure him a happiness denied by Nature, let him 



BARON I/hOLBACH. 



303 



study this nature, learn her laws, contemplate her 
energies, observe the immutable rules by which she 
acts.^ : 

Speaking of the theological delusions under which 
many men labor, and of the mode in which man has 
been surrounded by those delusions, he says : — 

His ignorance made him credulous : his curiosity 
made him swallow large draughts of the marvellous : 
time confirmed him in his opinions, and he passed his 
conjectures from race to race, for realities ; a tyranni- 
cal power maintained him in his notions, because by 
those alone could society be enslaved. It was in vain, 
that some faint glimmerings of Nature occasionally 
attempted the recall of his reason ; that slight corrus- 
cations of experience sometimes threw his darkness 
into light : the interest of the few was bottomed on 
his enthusiasm ; their pre-eminence depended on his 
love of the wonderful : their very existence rested on 
the solidity of his ignorance; they consequently suf- 
fered no opportunity to escape, of smothering even the 
lambent flame. The many were thus first deceived into 
credulity, then coerced into submission. At length, 
the whole science of man became a confused mass of 
darkness, falsehood, and contradictions, with here and 
there a feeble ray of truth, furnished by that Nature of 
which he can never entirely divest himself, because, 
without his knowledge, his necessities are continually 
bringing him back to her resources. ;; 

Having stated that by " nature ;; he means the 
" great whole/'" our author complains of those who 
assert that matter is senseless, inanimate, unintelli- 
gent, etc., and says, 11 Experience proves to us that 
the matter which we regard as inert or dead, assumes 
action, intelligence, and life, when it is combined in 
a certain way : n — 

; * If flour be wetted with water, and the mixture 
closed up, it will be found, after some little lapse of 
time, by the aid of a microscope, to have produced 
organized beings that enjoy life, of which the water 
<ind the flour were believed incapable : it is thus that 



304 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



inanimate matter can pass into life, or animate matter, 

which is in itself only an assemblage of motion. Rea- 
soning from analogy, which the philosophers of the 
present day hold perfectly compatible, the production 
of a man, independent of the ordinary means, would 
not be more marvellous than that of an insect with 
flour and water. Fermentation and putrefaction evi- 
dently produce living animals. We have here the 
principle ; with proper materials, principles can always 
be brought into action. That generation which is styl- 
ed equivocal, is only so for those who do not reflect, or 
who do not permit themselves, attentively, to observe 
the operations of Nature/'' 

This passage is much ridiculed by Voltaire, who as- 
serts that it is founded on some experiments made bj 
one Needham, who placed some rye-meal in well-cork 
ed bottles, and some boiled mutton gravy in other bot 
ties, and found that eels were produced in each. We 
do not know sufficient of the history of Needham'n 
experiments, either to affirm or deny their authentici 
ty, but we feel bound to remind our readers of the: 
much-decried experiments conducted by Mr. Crosse, 
and which were afterwards verified by Mr. Weekes. 
of Sandwich. In these cases, insects were produced 
by the action of a powerful voltaic battery upon a 
saturated solution of silicate of potash, and upon ferro 
cyanuret of potassium. The insects were a species of 
acarus, minute and semi-transparent, and furnished 
with long bristles, which could only be seen by the aid 
of the microscope. The sixth chapter treats of man, 
and the author thus answers the question, ; *' What is 
man ? n - : — 

' : We say he is a material being, organized after a 
peculiar manner, conformed to a certain mode of think- 
ing, of feeling, capable of modification in certain 
modes peculiar to himself, to his organization, to that 
particular combination of matter which is found as- 
sembled in him. If again it be asked, What origin 
we give to beings of the human species? We reply, 
that like all other beings, man is a production of na- 



BARON d'hOLBACH. 



305 



ture, who resembles them in some respects, and rinds 
himself submitted to the same laws; who differs from 
them in oiher respects, and follows particular laws de- 
termined by the diversity of his conformation. If then 
it be demanded, Whence came man ? We answer, 
our experience on this head does not capacitate us to 
resolve the question ; but that it cannot interest us, as 
it suffices for us to know that man exists, that he is 
so constituted as to be competent to the effects we 
witness." 

In the seventh chapter the author, treating of the 
soul and spirit, says : — 

e * The doctrine of spirituality, such as it now exists, 
offers nothing but vague ideas, or, rather, is the ab- 
sence of all ideas. What does it present to the mind 
but a substance which possesses nothing of which our 
senses enable us to have a knowledge? Can it be 
truth, that man is able to figure to himself a being 
not material, having neither extent nor parts, which, 
nevertheless, acts upon matter without having any 
point of contact, any kind of analogy with it ; and 
which itself receives the impulse of matter by means 
of material organs, which announce to it the presence 
of other beings? Is it possible to conceive the union 
of the soul with the body ; to comprehend how this 
material body can bind, enclose, constrain, determine 
a fugitive being, which escapes ail our senses'? Is it 
honest, is it plain dealing, to solve these difficulties, 
by saying there is a mystery in them, that they are 
the effects of a power more inconceivable than the 
human soul, than its mode of acting, however con- 
cealed from our view? When to resolve these pro- 
blems, man is obliged to have recourse to miracles, to 
make the Divinity interfere, does he not avow his own 
ignorance? When notwithstanding the ignorance he 
is thus obliged to avow by availing himself of the 
divine agency, he tells us, this immaterial substance, 
this soul, shall experience the action of the element of 
fire, which he allows to be material ; when he confi- 
dently says, this soul shall be burnt; shall suffer in 
26* 



♦ 



306 BIOGRAPHY OF 

purgatory — have we not a right to believe, that either 
he has a design to deceive us, or else that he does not 
himself understand that which he is so anxious we 
shall take upon his word ? ?; 

The ninth chapter, after treating of the diversity of 
the intellectual faculties, proceeds, " Man at his birth 
brings with him into the world nothing but the neces- 
sity of conserving himself, of rendering his existence 
happy; instruction, examples, the custom of the world, 
present him with the means, either real or imaginary, 
of achieving it; habit procures for him the facility of 
employing these means : " — 

" In order that man may become virtuous, it is ab- 
solutely requite that he should have an interest, that 
he should find advantages in practicing virtue. For 
this end, it is necessary that education should implant 
in him reasonable ideas j that public opinion should 
lean towards virtue, as the most desirable good ; that 
example should point it out as the object most worthy 
of esteem; that government should faithfully recom- 
pense, should ^regularly reward it; that honor should 
always accompany its practice; that vice should con- 
stantly be despised ; that crime should invariably be 
punished. Is virtue in this situation amongst men I 
Does the education of man infuse into bim just, faith- 
ful ideas of happiness — true notions of virtue — dispo- 
sitions really favorable to the beings with whom he is 
to live ? The examples spread before him, are they 
suitable to innocence of manners! Are they calculat- 
ed to make him respect decency, to cause him to 
love probity, to practice honesty, to value good faith, 
to esteem equity, to revere conjugal fidelity, to ob- 
serve exactitude in fulfilling his duties! Religion, 
which alone pretends to regulate his manners, does it 
render him sociable? does it make him pacific! does 
it teach him to be humane! The arbiters, the sov- 
ereigns of society, are they faithful in recompensing, 
punctual in rewarding, those wiio have best served 
their country, in punishing those who have pillaged, 
who have robbed, who have plundered, who have di- 



- t 

BARON D ? HOLBACH. 307 

vided, who have ruined if? Justice, does she hold 
her scales with a firm, with an even hand, between 
all the citizens of the state ? The laws, do they never 
support the strong against the weak, favor the rich 
against the poor, uphold the happy against the miser- 
able? In shojrt, is it an uncommon spectacle to behold 
crime frequently justified, often applauded, sometimes 
crowned with success, insolently triumphing, arrogant- 
ly striding over that merit which it disdains, over that 
virtue which it outrages? Well, then, in societies 
thus constituted, virtue can only be heard by a very 
small number of peaceable citizens, a few generous 
souls, who know how to estimate its value, who enjoy 
it in secret. For the others, it is only a disgusting ob- 
ject ; they see in it nothing but the supposed enemy 
to their happiness, or the censor of their individual 
conduct." 

In the tenth chapter, which is upon the soul, the 
author says : — 

" The diversity in the temperament of man, is tt. 
natural, the necessary source of the diversity of h 
passions, of his taste, of his ideas of happiness, of his 
opinions of every kind. Thus this same diversity will 
be the fatal source of his disputes — of his hatreds — of 
his injustice — every time he shall reason upon un- 
known objects, but to which he shall attach the great- 
est importance. He will never understand either him- 
self or others, in speaking of a spiritual soul, or of 
immaterial substances distinguished from nature* he 
will, from that moment, cease to speak the same lan- 
guage, and he will never attach the same ideas to the 
same words. What then shall be the common stand- 
ard that shall decide which is the man that thinks with 
the greatest justice? 

u Propose to a man to change his religion for yours, 
he will believe you a madman ; you will only excite 
his indignation, elicit his contempt; he will propose 
to you, in his turn, to adopt his own peculiar opinions; 
after much reasoning, you will treat each other as 
absurd beings, ridiculously opinionated, pertinaciously 



308 BIOGRAPHY OF 

stubborn ; and he will display the least folly who 
shall first yield. But, if the adversaries become heat- 
ed in the dispute, which always happens, when they 
suppose the matter important, or when they would 
defend the cau=e of tneir own self-love, from thence 
their passions sharpen, they grow angry, quarrels aie 
provoked, they hate each other, and end by reciprocal 
injury. It is thus that for opinions, which no man can 
demonstrate, we see the Brachman despised j the Ma- 
homedan hated; the Pagan held in contempt; that 
they oppress and disdain each with the most rancorous 
animosity : the Christian burns the Jew 7 at what is 
called an Auto-da-fe, because he clings to the faith of 
his fathers - the Roman Catholic condemns the Protes- 
tant to the flame?, and makes a conscience of massa- 
creing him in cold blood: this le-acts in his turn; 
sometimes the various sects of Christians league to- 
gether against the incredulous Turk, and for a mo- 
ment suspend their own bloody disputes that they 
may chastise the enemies to the true faith : then, 
having glutted their revenge, return with redoubled 
fury, to wreak over again their infuriated vengeance 
on each other. ' ? 

The thirteenth chapter argues as follows, against the 
doctrine of the immortality of the soul and a future 
state : — 

" In old age, man extinguishes entirely, his fibres 
become rigid, his nerves lose their elasticity, his 
senses are obtunded, his sight grows dim, his ears 
lose their quickness, his ideas become unconnected, 
his memory fails, his imagination cools, — what, then, 
becomes of his soul 1 Alas ! it sinks down with the 
body, it gets benumbed as this loses its feeling, be- 
comes sluggish as this decays in activity ; like it, 
when enfeebled by years, it fulfils its functions with 
pain ; this substance, which ^'deemed spiritual, which 
is considered immaterial, which it is endeavored to 
distinguish from matter, undergoes the same revolu- 
tions, experiences the same vicissitudes, submits to 
the same modifications as does the body itself. In 



BARON d'hOLBACH. 



309 



despite of this proof of the materiality of the soul, of 
its identity with the body so convincing to the unpre- 
judiced, some thinkers have supposed that although 
the latter is perishable, the former does not perish ; 
that this portion of man enjoys the especial privilege 
of immortality; that it is exempt from dissolution; 
free from those changes of form all the beings in na- 
ture undergo : in consequence of this, man is persuad- 
ed himself that this privileged soul does not die. 

" It will be asked, perhaps, by what road has man 
been conducted to form to himself gratuitous ideas of 
another world ? I reply, that it is a truth man has no 
idea of a future life • they are the ideas of the past 
and the present, that furnish his imagination with the 
materials of which he constructs the edifice of the re- 
gions of futurity. Hobbes says, ' We believe that, that 
which is will always be, and that the same causes will 
have the same effects.' Man in his actual state has 
two modes of feeling — one, that he approves; anoth- 
er, that he disapproves : thus persuaded that these two 
modes of feeling must accompany him even beyond 
his present existence, he placed in the regions of eter- 
nity two distinguished abodes ; one destined to felicity ; 
the other to misery : the one must contain those who 
obey the calls of superstition, who believe in its dog- 
mas ; the other is a prison, destined to avenge the 
cause of heaven on all those who shall not faithfully 
believe the doctrines promulgated by the ministers of 
a vast variety of superstitions. Has sufficient atten- 
tion been paid to the fact that results as a necessary 
consequence from this reasoning ; which on examina- 
tion will be found to have rendered the first place en- 
tirely useless, seeing, that by the number and contra- 
diction of these various systems, let man believe which- 
ever he may, let him follow it in the most faithful man- 
ner, still he must be ranked as an Infidel, as a rebel to 
the divinity ; because he cannot believe in all ; and 
those from which he dissents, by a consequence of 
their own creed, condemn him to the prison-house! — 
Such is the origin of the ideas upon a future life, so 



310 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



diffused among mankind. Everywhere may be seen 
an Elysium, and a Tartarus, a Paradise and a Hell j in 
a word, two distinguished abodes, constructed accord- 
ing to the imagination of the enthusiasts who have in- 
vented them; who have accommodated them to their 
own peculiar prejudices, to the hopes, to the fears of 
the people who believe in them. The Indian figures 
tnetiist of these abodes as one of inaction, of perma- 
nent repose, because, being the inhabitant of a hot cli- 
mate, he has learned to contemplate rest as the ex- 
treme of felicity : the Mussulman promises himself 
corporeal pleasures, similar to those that actually con- 
stitute the object of his research in this life: each fig- 
ures to himself that on which he has learned to set the 
greatest value. ?? 

" As foi the miserable abode of souls, the imagina- 
tion of fanatics, who were desirous of governing the 
people, strove to assemble the most frightful images 
to render it still more terrible ; fire is of all things that 
which pioduces in man the most pungent sensation; 
not finding anything more cruel, the enemies to the 
several dogmas were to be everlastingly punished with 
this torturing element : fire, therefore, was the point 
at which their imagination w T as obliged to stop ; the 
ministers of the various systems agreed pretty gener- 
ally, that fire would one day avenge their offended di- 
vinities ; thus, they painted the victims to the anger 
of the gods, or rather those who questioned their own 
creeds, as confined in fiery dungeons; as perpetually 
rolling into a vortex of bituminous flames; as plunged 
in unfathomable gulfs of liquid sulphur ; making the 
infernal caverns resound with their useless groaaings, 
with their unavailing gnashing of teeth. But it will, 
perhaps, be inquired, how could man reconcile himself 
to the belief of an existence accompanied with eternal 
torments; above all, as many according to their own 
superstitions had reason to fear it for themselves] — 
Many causes have concurred to make him adopt so 
revolting an opinion : in the first place, very few think- 
ing men have ever believed such an absurdity, when 



BARON d'hOLBACH. 311 

they have deigned to make use of their reason ■ or, 
when they have accredited it, this notion was always 
counterbalanced by the idea of the goodness, by a re- 
liance on the mercy, which they attributed to their re- 
spective divinities : in the second place, those who 
were blinded by their fears never rendered to them- 
selves any account of these strange doctrines which 
they either received with awe from their legislators, 
or which were transmitted to them by their fathers ; 
in the third place, each sees the object of his terrors 
only at a favorable distance; moreover, superstition 
promises him the means of escaping the tortures he 
believes he has merited/' 

We conclude by quoting the following eloquent pas- 
sage : — 

" Oh ! Nature ! sovereign of all beings ! and ye ? 
her adorable daughters, Virtue 4 , Reason, and Truth! 
remain forever our reverend protectors. It is to you 
that belong the praises of the human race ; to you ap- 
pertains the homage of the earth. Show us, then, oh ! 
Nature ! that which man ought to do, in order to ob- 
tain the happiness which thou makest him desire. — 
Virtue ! animate him with thy beneficent fire ! Rea- 
son ! conduct his uncertain steps through the paths of 
life. Truth ! let thy torch illumine his intellect, dissi- 
pate the darkness of his road Banish error from our 

mind, wickedness from our hearts, confusion from our 
footsteps. Cause knowledge to extend its salubrious 
reign, goodness to occupy our souls, serenity to dwell 

in our bosoms Let our eyes, so long either dazzled 

or blindfolded, be at length fixed upon those objects 
we ought to seek. Dispel forever those mists of igno- 
rance, those hideous phantoms, together with those se- 
ducing chimeras, which only serve to lead us astray. 
Extricate us from that dark abyss into which we are 
plunged by superstition, overthrow the fatal empire of 
delusion, crumble the throne of falsehood, wrest from 
their polluted hands the power they have usurped." 

K J 77 



BIOGRAPHY 

OF 



ROBERT TAYLOR. 



Many of the readers of this number will, from their 
own memories, be better able to do justice to him, 
whom Henry Hunt named " The Devil's Chaplain," 
than we shall in our limited space. Robert Taylor 
was born at Edmonton, in the county of Middlesex, on 
the 18th of August, 1784. His family was highly re- 
spectable, and his parents were in affluent circumstan- 
ces ; but, being a younger son in a family of eleven 
children, it was necessary that Robert Taylor should 
follow some profession. His father died when he was 
about seven years old, leaving him under the guardi- 
anship of a paternal uncle. When seventeen years of 
age, he was apprenticed to a surgeon, at Birmingham, 
and studied medicine afterwards under Sir Astley 
Cooper and Mr. Clive, passing the College of Surgeons 
with considerable eclat. When about twenty-three, he 
became acquainted with the Rev. Thomas Cotterell, 
a clergyman of the Established Church, of high evan- 
gelical principles, who induced him to quit physic for 
metaphysics, and in 1809 Robert Taylor entered Saint 
John's College, Cambridge, and in 1813 took his de- 
gree of Bachelor of Arts. He was publicly compli- 
mented by the Master of the College as a singular 
honor to the University in his scholarship, and was or- 
dained on the 14th of March, 1813, by the bishop of 



ROBERT TAYLOR. 



313 



Chichester; from that time until 1818, Taylor officiat- 
ed as curate at Midhurst. Here he became acquaint- 
ed with a person named Ayling. who held Deistical 
opinions, and who induced Taylor to read various Free- 
thinking works; this soon resulted in an avowal of 
Deism on the part of Taylor, who tendered his resig- 
nation to his Bishop. His friends and family were 
much alarmed, and much pressure was brought to 
bear upon him, and we regret to state that it had the 
effect of producing a temporary recantation. This, 
however, brought Taylor no relief ; he found himself 
in distress, and shunned by his family. Through the 
kindness of an old friend, he obtained the curacy of 
Yardley, near Birmingham, but his previous apos.tacy 
having reached the ears of the Bishop, the necessary 
license was refused, and the rector received a peremp- 
tory notice to dismiss Taylor. This harsh treatment 
caused a reaction, and while the rector sought another 
curate, Taylor preached a series of sermons, by means 
of which he shook the faith of nearly the whole of his 
congregation. The following is an abstract of his last 
sermon at Yardley : — 

" The text was, 'For as Jonah was three days and 
three nights in the whale's belly, so shall the son of 
man be three days and three nights in the heart of the 
earth ; — Matt, xii., 40. He began, c Then this glori- 
ous miracle of the man having been swallowed alive 
by a fish, and remaining alive for seventy-two hours, 
undigested and unhurt, in the fish's bowels, and being 
vomitSd up unhurt and safe upon the dry land, was 
as true as the gospel ; and consequently the gospel 
was as true, but not more true, than this sea-sick 
miracle. He inferred that no person could have a 
right to pretend to believe in the death and resurrec- 
tion of Christ, who had the least doubt as to the re- 
ality of the deglutition and evomition of the prophet 
Jonah. As to the natural improbabilities and physical 
impossibilities of this very wonderful Bible miracle, 
these were nothing in the way of a true and lively 
faith. Where miracles of any sort were concerned, 
27 



314 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



there could be no distinction into the greater and the 
less, since infinite power was as necessary to the reali- 
ty of the least as to the greatest. We should never 
forget that it was the Lord who prepared the fish, and 
prepared him for the express purpose of swallowing the 
man, and probably gave him a little opening physic, 
to cleanse the apartment for the accommodation of its 
intended tenant; and had the purpose been, that the 
whole ship and all the crew should have been swal- 
lowed as well as he, there's no doubt that they could 
have been equally well accommodated. But as to 
what some wicked Infidels objected, about the swallow 
of the whale being too narrow to admit the passage of 
the man, it only required a lif.tle stretching, and even 
a herring or a sprat might have gulped him. He en- 
larged, most copiously, on the circumstance of the 
Lord speaking to the fish, in order to cause him to 
vomit j and insisted on the natural efficacy of the 
Lord, which was quite enough to make anybody sick. 
He pointed out the many interesting examples of faith 
and obedience which had been set by the scaly race, 
who were not only at all times easy to be caught in 
the gospel net, when thrown over them by the preach- 
ing of the word, but were always ready to surrender 
their existence to the Almighty, whenever he pleased 
to drop 'em a line. That as the first preachers of the 
gospel were fishermen, so the preachers of the gospel, 
to this day, might truly be said to be looking after the 
loaves and fishes, and they who, as the Scripture says, 
are 1 wise to catch soles,' speak to them for no other 
purpose than that for which the Lord spake unto the 
whale — that is, to ascertain how much they can swal- 
low. The moral of this pungent persiflage, aimed to 
admonish the proud and uncharitable believer, who 
expected his acceptance with the deity on the score 
of his credulity, that when his credulity was fairly put 
to trial, it might be found that he was in reality as far 
from believing what he did not take to be true as tfi-e 
most honest and avowed Infidel. i Thou then who 
wouldst put a trick upon infinite wisdom, and prefer- 



ROBERT TAYLOR. 



315 



est the imagined merit of a weak understanding to the 
real utility of an honest heart — thou who wouldst 

1 Compound for sins thou art inclined to, 
By damning those thou hast no mind to ; ' 

hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self 1 Thou 
believest only that which seemeth to thee to be true ; 
what does the Atheist less \ And that which appear- 
eth to be a lie thou rejectest: what does the Atheist 
more'* Can we think that God has given us reason 
only to betray us, and made us so much superior to 
the brute creation, only to deal with us so much worse 
than they, to punish us. for making the best use we 
could of the faculties he has given us, and to make the 
very excellence of our nature the cause of our dam- 
nation % 7 77 

This concluded his connection with the Church of 
England, and his brother having consented to make 
him an allowance of one pound per week if he would 
quit England, he retired to the Isle of Man. After 
nine weeks his brother ceased to remit; and* to support 
himself, Taylor wrote for the two newspapers then 
published in the island, but his articles attracting at- 
tention, he was summoned before the Bishop, and 
compelled to quit the island under a threat of impris- 
onment. In deep distress, he w.ent to Dublin, where 
he lectured on Deism until 1824, when he came to 
London, and founded the Christian Evidence Society. 
Many of the discourses delivered by him were printed 
in " The Lion, 77 which was first published in 1828. In 
1827 Mr. Taylor was tried at Guildhall for blasphemy, 
and was sentenced to imprisonment in Oakham gaol for 
one year. In Oakham he wrote il The Diegesis 77 and 
" Syntagma. 77 After his release from prison in 1829, 
he, together with Richard Carlile, made a tour through 
England on an Infidel mission, commencing with a 
challenge to the Cambridge University. In 1830 and 
1831 he delivered a series of discourses, which are 
printed together under the title of " The DeviPs Pul- 
pit. 77 On the 4th July, 1831, he was again tried for 



316 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



olasphemy and sentenced to two years' imprisonment 
In 1833 he delivered a number of discourses, which 
were printed in the " Philalethean." He was the 
friend and companion of Richard Carlile for several 
years. It is difficult to quote from Robert Taylor's 
works, unless at the risk of doing him great injustice, 
and we must therefore refer our readers to the works 
we have named. The following is from " The Devil's 
Pulpit : »— 

" The gentlemen who distribute religious tracts, the 
general body of dissenting preachers, and almost all 
persons engaged in the trade of religion, imagine 
themselves to have a mighty advantage against Infi- 
dels, upon the strength of that last and reckless argu- 
ment — that whether the Christian religion be true or 
false, there can be no harm in believing ; and that be- 
lief is, at any rate, the safe side. Now, to say nothing 
of this old Popish argument, which a sensible man 
must see is the very essence of Popery, and would 
oblige us to believe all the absurdities and nonsense in 
the world : inasmuch as if there be no harm in believ- 
ing, and there be some harm and danger in not believ- 
ing, the more we believe the better : and all the argu- 
ment necessary for any religion whatever would be, 
that it should frighten us out of our wits : the more 
terrible, the more true : and it would be our duty to 
become the converts of that religion whatever it might 
be, whose priests could swear the loudest, and damn 
and curse the fiercest. But I am here to grapple with 
this Popery in disguise, this wolfish argument in sheep- 
ish clothing, upon Scriptural ground, and on Scriptural 
ground only; taking the Scriptures of the Old and New 
Testament, for this argument's sake, to be divine au- 
thority. The question proposed is, 1 Whether is the 
believer or the unbeliever the more likely to be saved, 
taking the Scriptures to be of divine authority]' And 
I stand here, on this divine authority, to prove that 
the unbeliever is the more likely to be saved : that 
unbelief, and not belief, is the safe side, and that a 
man is more likely to be damned for believing the 



ROBERT TAYLOR. 



317 



gospel, and because of his having believed it, than for 

rejecting and despising it, as I do But. if a patient 

hearing be more than good Christians be minded to 
give us, when thus advance to meet them on their 
own ground, their impatience and intolerance itself 
will supply the evidence and demonstration of the fact, 
that, after all, they dare not stand to the text of their 
own book, that it is not the Bible that they go by, nor 
God whom they regard : but that they want to be 
God-a'-mighties themselves, and would have us take 
their words for God's words; you must read it as they 
read it, and understand it as they understand it: you 
must 4 skip, and go on,' just where a hard word comes 
in trie way of the sense they choose to put upon't ; 
you must believe what the book contains, what you 
see with your own eyes that it does not contain : you 
must shut your eyes, and not see what it does contain ; 
or you'll be none the nearer the mark of their liking. 
,. Taking the authority of Scripture, for^ this argu- 
ment's sake, to be decisive, I address the believer w T ho 
would give himself airs of superiority, would chuckle 
in an imaginary safety in believing, and presume to 
threaten the unbeliever as being in a worse case, or 
more dangerous plight, than he. 1 Hast thou no fears 
for thy presumptuous self? ' when on the showing of 
thine own book, the safety (if safety there be) is all on 
the unbelieving side! When for any one text that 
can be produced, seeming to hold out any advantage 
or safety i believing, we can produce two in which 
the better hope is held out to the unbeliever? For 
any one apparent exhortation to believe, we can pro- 
duce two forbiddances to believe, and many threaten- 
ings of God's vengeance to- and for the crime and folly 
of, believing. To this proof I proceed, by showing 
you : — 1st. What the denunciations of God's vengeance 
are : with no comment of mine, but in the words of 
the text itself. 2d. That these dreadful denunciations 
are threatened to believers : and that they are not 
threatened to unbelievers. And 3d. That all possible 
advantages and safety 3 which believing could confer 
27* 



318 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



on any man, are likely, and more likely to be confer- 
red on the unbeliever than on the believer. That the 
danger of the believer is &o extreme, that no greater 
danger can possibly be. 1st. What are the denuncia- 
tions of pod's vengeance? c There are J (says the holy 
Revelation, xiv. 10,) ' who shall drink of the wine of 
the wrath of God, which is poured out without mix- 
trre into the cup of his indignation, and shall be tor- 
mented with fire and brimstone, and the smoke of 
their torment ascendeth up forever and ever : and 
they have no rest day or night. ; There's ' glad tid- 
ings of great joy ? for you ! The Christian may get 
over the terror of this denunciation by the selfish and 
ungenerous chuckle of his 1 Ah ! well, these were very 
wicked people, and must have deserved their doom ; 
it need not alarm us : it doesn't apply to us. ; But 
good-hearted men would rather say, : It does apply. 
We cannot be indifferent to the misery of our fellow- 
creatures. The self-same Heaven that frowns on them, 
looks lowering upon us. ? And who were they? and 
what was their offence ? Was it Atheism ? was it De- 
ism % was it Infidelity ? No ! It was for church and 
chapel-going j it was for adoring, believing, and wor- 
shipping. They worshipped the beast: I know not 
what beast they worshipped ) but I know that if you 
go into any of our churches and chapels at this day, 
you will find them worshipping the Lamb ] and if 
wo r shipping a lamb be not most suspiciously like wor- 
shiping a beast, you may keep the color in your 
cheeks, while mine are blanched with fear. The un- 
believer only can be absolutely safe from this danger. 
He only who has no religion at all, is sure not to be 
of the wrong religion. He who worships neither God 
nor Devil, is sure not to mistake one of those gentle- 
men for the other. But will it be pretended, that these 
are only metaphors of speech, that the thing said is 
not the thing that's meant? Why, then, they are very 
ugly metaphors. And what is saying that which you 
don 7 t mean, and meaning the contrary to what you 
say, but lying ? And what worse can become of the 



ROBERT TAYLOR. 



319 



Infidel, who makes it the rule of his life 1 to hear and 
speak the plain and simple truth,' than of the Chris- 
tian, whose religion itself is a system of metaphors and 
allegories, of double meanings, of quirks and quiddities, 
in dread defiance of the text that warns him, that 1 All 
liars shall have their part in the lake which burnetii 
with fire and brimstone % ? Rev. xxi. 8. 

" Is it a parable that a man may merely entertain his 
imagination withal, and think no more on't, — though 
not a word be hinted about a parabolical signification, 
and the text stands in the mouth of him who, we are 
told, was the truth itself? And he it is who brought 
life and immortality to light, that hath described in 
the 16th of Luke, such an immortality as that of one 
who was a sincere believer, a son of Abraham, who 
took the Bible for the rule of his life, and was anxious 
to promote the salvation of his brethren, yet found for 
himself no Saviour, no salvation ; but, 1 In Hell he lift- 
ed up his eyes being in torment : and saith Father 
Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that 
he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my 
tongue, for I am tormented in this flame. ? But that 
request was refused. 1 Then he said, I pray thee, 
therefore, Father, that thou wouldst send him to my 
father's house; for I have five brethren, that he may 
testify unto them, lest they also come to this place of 
torment. 7 But that request was refused. There's 1 glad 
tidings of great joy J for you ! That the believer's dan- 
ger of coming or going into that place of torment is so 
great, that greater cannot possibly be : and that his 
belief will stand him in no stead at all, but make his 
plight a thousand times worse than if he had not been 
a believer; and that unbelief is the safer side — Christ 
himself being judge — I quote no words but his to 
prove. Is the believer concerned to save his soul, 
then shall he most assuredly be damned for being so 
concerned : for Christ hath said, 1 Whosoever will save 
his soul shall lose it.' Matthew xvi. 25. Is the be- 
liever a complete beggar I If he be not so, if he hath 
a rag that he doth call his own, he will be damned to 



320 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



all eternity. For Christ hath said, ( Whosoever he be 
of you who forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot 
be my disciple.' Luke xiv. 33. Is the believer a rich 
man ? and dreams he of going to Heaven % L It is easier 
for a camel to go through the eye of a needle.' Mat- 
thew xix. 24. Is he a man at all, then he cannot be 
saved, 7 for Christ hath said, c Thou believest that there 
is one God ; ' saith St. James, 4 Thou dost well, the 
Devils also believe and tremble.' 2 James xix. And so 
much good, and no more, than comes to damned spirits 
in the flames of Hell, is all the good that ever did and 
can come of believing. ' For though thou hadst all 
faith, so that thou couldst remove mountains/ saith 
St. Paul, 1 It should profit thee nothing.' 1 Cor. xiii. 2. 
Well, then ! let the good Christian try what saving his 
prayers will do for him : this is the good that they'll 
do for him ; and he hath Christ's own word to comfort 
him in't, 1 He shall receive the greater damnation.' 
Luke xx. 47. Well, then, since believing will not 
save him, since faith will not save him, since prayer 
will not save him, but all so positively make things 
all the worse, and none the better, there's one other 
chance for him. Let him go and receive the Sacra- 
ment, the most comfortable Sacrament, you know, 1 of 
the body and blood of Christ,' remembering, as all 
good communicants should, ' that he is not worthy so 
much as to gather up the crumbs that fall from that 
table.' ' Truth, Lord ! But the dogs eat of the crumbs 
that fall from their master's table ! ' what happy 
dogs ! But let those dogs remember, that it is also 
truth, that 1 He that eateth and drinketh unworthily, 
eateth and drinketh damnation to himself.' 1 Cor. xvi. 
29. what precious eating and drinking ! 

" 1 My God ! and is thy table spread • 
And doth thy cup with love o'erflow ? 
Thither be all the children led, 
And let them all thy sweetness know.' 

" That table is a snare, that cup is deadly poison, 
that bread shall send thy soul to Hell. Well, then ! 



ROBERT TAYLOR. 



321 



try again, believer : perhaps you had better join the 
Missionary Society, and subscribe to send these glad 
tidings of these blessed privileges, and this jolly eat- 
ing and drinking, to the Heathen. Why, then, you 
have Christ's own assurance, that when you shall have 
made one proselyte, you shall just have done him the 
kindness of making him twofold more the child of Hell 
than yourself. Mat. xxiii. 15. Is the believer liable 
to the ordinary gusts of passion, and in a passion shall 
he drop the hasty word, ' thou fool! 7 for that one word 
< he shall be in danger of Hell fire.' Mat. v. 22. Nay, 
Sits ! this isn't the worst of the believer's danger. 
Would he but keep his legs and arms together, and 
spare his own eyes and limbs : he doth by that very 
mercy to himself damn his eyes and limbs — and hath 
Christ's assurance that it would have been profitable 
for him rather to have plucked out his eyes, and chopt 
off his limbs, and so to have wriggled and groped his 
way through the 1 Straight gate and the narrow way 
that leadeth unto life,' than having two eyes and two 
arms, or two legs, to be cast into Hell, into the fire 
that never shall be quenched, where their ' worm 
dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.' Mark ix. 43. 
Well, then ! will the believer say, what were all the 
miracles and prophecies of both the Old and the New 
Testament for! those unquestionable miracles, and 
clearly-accomplished prophecies, if it were not that 
men should believe! Why, absolutely, they were the 
very arguments appointed by God himself to show us 
that men should not believe, but that damnation should 
be their punishment if they did believe. i To the law 
and the testimony.' Sirs ! These are the very words : 
— £ Of miracles, saith God's word, £ They are the spiriis 
of devils, that work miracles.' Rev. xvi. 14. And it 
is the Devil who 1 deceiveth them which dwell on the 
earth, by means of those miracles which he hath power 
to do.' Rev. xiii. 14. So much for miracles. Is it on 
the score of prophets and of prophecies, then, that you 
will take believing to be the safe side! Then £ thus 
saith the Lord of Hosts, the God of Israel, the prophets 



322 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



prophesy falsely and the priests bear rule by their 
means. 7 Jer. v. 31. 1 The prophet is a fool : the spirit- 
ual man is mad. 7 Hos^ea i. 7. < Thus saith the Lord of 
Hosts, hearken not unto the prophets. 7 Jer. xxiii. 15. 
£ Israel, thy prophets are like the foxes of the desert. 7 
Ezekiel xiii. 4. ' They lie unto thee. 7 Jerem. xiv. 14. 
4 And they shall be tormented day and night forever 
and ever. 7 Rev. xx. 10. 'And the punishment of the 
p:ophet shall be even as the punishment of him that 
f^eketh unto him. 7 Ezekiel xiv. 10. Nay more, then, 
it is, when God hath determined to damn men, that 
he, in every instance, causeth them to become believ- 
ers, and to have faith in divine Revelation, in order 
that they may be damned. Believers, and none but be- 
lievers, becoming liable to damnation ; believers and 
none but believers, being capable of committing that 
unpardonable sin against the Holy Ghost, which hath 
never forgiveness, neither in this world nor in that 
which is to come. < Whereas all other kinds of blas- 
phemy shall be forgiven unto men. and all sorts of 
blasphemy wherewith soever they shall blaspheme. 
But there is no forgiveness for believers. 7 Mark iii. 28. 
For it is written, i For this cause God shall send them 
strong delusion, that they should believe a lie : that 
they all might be damned. 7 2 Thessal. ii. 11. So when 
it was determined by God that the wicked Ahab should 
perish, the means to bring him to destruction, both of 
body and soul, was to make him become a believer. 

" I offer no comment of my own on words so sacred ; 
but these are the words : ' Hear thou, therefore, the 
w T ord of the Lord. I saw the Lord sitting upon his 
throne, and all the hosts of Heaven standing by him 
on his right hand and on his left. And the Lord said, 
who shall persuade Ahab that he may go up and fall 
at Ramoth Gilead I and one said on this manner, and 
another said on that manner. And there stood forth a 
spirit, and stood before the Lord, and said : I will per- 
suade him. And the Lord said unto him wherewith? 
And he said, I will go forth, and I will be a lying spirit 
in the mouth of all his prophets. And he said, thou 



ROBERT TAYLOR. 



323 



shalt persuade him, and prevail also. Go forth and do 
so. Now, therefore, behold the Lord hath put a lying 
spirit in the mouth of ail thy prophets. ; 1 Kings xxii. 
22. There were 400 of 'em; they were 'the goodly 
fellowship of the prophets for you • all of them inspir- 
ed by the spirit from on high, and all of them lying as 
fast as they could lie. 7 So much for getting on the safe 
side by believing. Had Ahab been an Infidel, he would 
have saved his soul alive. As it was, we may address 
him in the words of St. Paul to just such another fool, 
' King Ahab, believest thou the prophets! I know that 
thou believest : but no better than 1 know, that for that 
very belief, fell slaughter on thy soul : and where thou 
soughtest to be saved by believing, it was by believ- 
ing thou wert damned.' So when Elijah had succeed- 
ed in converting the 450 worshippers of Baal, who had 
been safe enough while they were Infidels, and they 
began crying, ' the Lord He is God, the Lord He is 
God : ; the moment they got into the right faith, they 
found themselves in the wrong box • and the prophet, 
by the command of God, put a stop to their Lord-God- 
ding, by cutting their throats for ; em. 1 Elijah brought 
them down to the brook of Kishon, and slew them 
there.' 1 Kings xviii. 40. Oh ! what a blessed thing, 
you see, to be converted to the true faith ! Thus all 
the sins and crimes that have been committed in the 
world, and ail God's judgments upon sin and sinners, 
have been the consequence of religion, and faith, and 
believing. What was the first sin committed in the 
world! It was believing. Had our great mother Eve 
not been a believing credulous fool, she would not 
have been in the transgression. Who was the first 
reverend divine that began preaching about God and 
immortality! It was the Devil. What was the first 
lie that was ever told, the very damning and damna- 
ble lie ! It was the lie told to make folks believe that 
they would not be dead when they were dead, that 
they should not surely die, but that they should be as 
gods, and live in a future state of existence. When 
God himself hath declared, that there is no future state 



324 



BIOGKAPHY OF 



of existence : that ' Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt 
thou return. ' Who is it, then, that prefers believing 
in the Devil rather than in God, but the believer] — 
And from whom is the hope of a future state derived, 
but from the father of lies — the Devil] But if in de- 
fiance of so positive a declaration of Almighty God, 
men will have it that there is a future state of exist- 
ence after death, who are they who shall sit down with 
Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of Heav- 
en,- but unbelievers, let 'em come from the north, from 
the south, from the east, or from the west] And who 
are they that shall be cast out, but believers, c the 
children of the kingdom] ' As St. Peter very charita- 
bly calls them, 'cursed children.' 2 Peter ii. 14. That 
is, I suppose, children with beards, children that never 
grew to sense enough to put away childish things, but 
did in gawky manhood, like new-born babes, desire 
the pure miiK and lollipop of the gospel. ' For of such 
is the kingdom of Heaven.' And wfio are they whom 
Christ will set upon his right hand, and to whom he 
will say, L Come ye blessed of my father! ' but unbe- 
lievers, who never troubled their minds about religion, 
and never darkened the doors of a gospel shop] But 
who are they to whom he will say, ' Depart ye cursed 
into everlasting fire, prepared for the Devil and his an- 
gels/ but believers, every one of them believers, chap- 
el-going folks, Christ's blood-men, and incorrigible big- 
ots, that had been bothering him all their days with 
their ' Lord ! Lord ! 7 to come off at last with no better 
reward of their faith than that he will protest unto 
them, I never knew ye. 

u One text there is, and only one, against ten thou- 
sand of a contrary significancy : which, being garbled 
and torn from its context, seems, for a moment, to give 
the advantage to the believer; the celebrated 19th 
chapter of Mark, v. 16 : — 1 He that believeth, and is 
baptized, shall be saved ; but he that believeth not, 
shall be damned.' But little will this serve the de- 
ceitful hope of the Christian, for it is immediately add- 
ed, 'And these signs shall follow them that believe; 



ROBERT TAYLOR. 



325 



in my name shall they cast out devils; they shall 
speak with new tongues ; they shall take up serpents ; 
and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt 
them j they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall 
recover." Can the Christian show these signs, or any 
of them ? Will he dare to take up a serpent, or drink 
prussic acid ? If he hesitate, he is not a believer, and 
his profession of beliet is a falsehood. Let belief con- 
fer what privilege it may, he hath no part nor lot in 
the matter; the threat which he denounces against In- 
fidels hangs over himself, and he hath no sign of sal- 
vation to show. Believing the gospel, then, (or rather, 
I should say, professing to believe it, for I need not tell 
you that there's a great deal more professing to be- 
lieve, tban believing.) instead of making a man the 
more likely to be saved, doubles his danger of damna- 
tion, inasmuch as Christ hath said, that 1 the last state 
of that man shall be worse than the first. 7 Luke xi. 
26. And his holy apostle Peter addeth, L It would have 
been better for them not to have known the way (2 
Peter ii. 21) of righteousness.' The sin of believing 
makes all other sins that a man can commit so much 
the more heinous and offensive in the sight of God, in- 
asmuch as the} are sins against light and knowledge : 
and 'the servant who knew his Lord's will, and did it 
nut, he shall be beaten w T ith many stripes. 7 Luke xii. 
47. While unbelief is not only innocent in itself, but 
so highly pleasing to Almighty God, that it is repre- 
sented as the cause of his forgiveness of things which 
otherwise would not be forgiven. Thus St. Paul, who 
had been a blasphemer, a persecutor, and injurious, as- 
sures us that it w 7 as for this cause he obtained mercy, 
1 because he did it ignorantly in unbelief.' 1 Tim. i. 
13. Had he been a believer, he would as surely have 
been damned as his name was Paul. And 7 tis the gist 
of his whole argument, and the express words of the 
11th of the Epistle to the Romans, that 1 God included 
them ail in unbelief, that he might have mercy upon 
all. 7 Unbelief being the essential qualification and 
recommendation to God's mercy : not without good 
28 



326 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



reason was it that the pious father of the boy that had 
the devil in him, when he had need of Christ's mercy, 
and knew that unbelief would be the best title to it, 
cried out and said with tears, 1 Lord, I believe, help 
thou mine unbelief! ' Mark ix. 24. While the Apostles 
themselves, who were most immediately near and dear 
to Christ, no more believed the Gospel than I do; and 
for all they have said and preached about it, they nev- 
er believed it themselves, as Christ told 'em that they 
hadn't so much faith as a grain of mustard seed. And 
the evangelist John bears them record, to their immor- 
tal honor, that { though Christ had done so many mira- 
cles among them, yet believed they not. ; John xii. 37. 
And the same divine authority assures us that { neither 
did his brethren believe in him.' John vii. 5. Which 
then is 1 the safe side,' Sirs, on the showing of the rec- 
ord itself? On the unbelieving side, the Infidel stands 
in the glorious company of the Apostles, in the imme- 
diate family of Christ, and hath no fear; while the be- 
liever doth as well and no better than the devils in 
hell, who believe and tremble." " I." 



4 



BIOGRAPHY 



OF 



JOSEPH BARKER. 



In any work, purporting to be a true record of Free- 
wnkers, the name of Joseph Barker cannot be omitted. 
V 9 find in him, from the commencement of his public 
life till the present time, an ardent desire for, and a 
determination to achieve, freedom of thought and ex- 
preegion on all subjects appertaining to theology, po- 
litics, and sociology. Possessing a vigorous intellect, 
a constitution naturally strong, great oratorical ability, 
and an unrivalled command ol the Saxon language, he 
has made himself a power among each party with 
w r hom the transitory state of his mind has brought him 
in contact. It is seldom we find men with equal bold- 
ness, when once connected with Wesleyan Methodism, 
rising superior in thought to its narrow, selfish, dog- 
matic, unnatural, and humiliating views, and claiming 
for human nature a more dignified and exalted position j 
gradually advancing to Unitarianism ; ultimately to 
land safely on the shore of Materialism. Joseph 
Barker has passed, amid persecution and privation, 
through these different phases of theology, to arrive at 
" Infidelity,' 7 to be, he states, a better, wise*r, and 
happier man. In his autobiography, we read that he 
was born in Bramley, an old country town in the West 
Riding of Yorkshire,%in 1806, the day of his birth being 
forgotten. His parents, and his ancestors, so far as is 



ii 



328 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



known of them, were of humble means. His grand- 
father was addicted to drinking freely of those bev- 
erages which meet with so much opposition from Mr. 
Barker himself. His aunt also was unfortunate, hav- 
ing married a man who was a minister, a drunkard, 
and a cock-fighter. His parents appear to have been 
uneducated and pious; belonging to the old school of 
Methodists, those who look on this life merely as a 
state of trial and probation ; always looking forward to 
enjoy their mansion in the skies — the house not made 
with hands eternal in the heavens, thinking nothing 

Worth a thought beneath, 

But how they may escape the death 
That never, never dies. 

Although living in this world, they were not of it. It 
was to them, all vanity and vexation of spirit. They 
attended their chapel, their love feasts, their class- 
meetings, their prayer meetings, and their revival 
meetings, where they would lament over the wicked- 
ness and depravity of human nature, where they would 
u speak their experience," tell of their temptations, 
pray for the conversion of the world, and sing their 
hymns, such as the following, which was a favorite 
with Mr. Barker's family : — 

" Refining fire, go through my heart, 

Illuminate my soul ; 
Scatter my life through every part, 

And sanctify the whole." 

Such being the character of Mr. Barker's parents^ it is 
no wonder that he was " brought up " under the same 
influence, with the same false notions of life, of hu- 
manity, and of the world ; and we cannot prize too 
highly the man who had the industry to investigate, 
the ability to discern, and the courage to expose the 
falsity of such doctrines and the disastrous effects of 
such teaching. 

In the extracts we shall give from Mr. Barker's 
works will be found that simplicity of style and force 



JOSEPH BARKER. 



329 



of argument peculiar to himself. The first extract we 
take shows the falsity of the orthodox doctrine of the 
total depravity of human nature : — 

u On looking back on the earlier periods of my life, 
I first see proofs that the orthodox doctrine of original 
sin, or of natural total depravity, is a falsehood. I was 
not born totally depraved. I never recollect the time, 
since I began to think and feel at all, when I had not 
good thoughts, and good feelings. I never recollect 
the time since I began to think and feel at ail, when I 
had not many good thoughts, and strong inclinations to 
goodness. So far was my heart from being utterly 
depraved or hardened, that I sympathised, even in my 
childhood, with the humblest of God's creatures, and 
was rilled to overflowing with sorrow at the sight of 
distress. I recollect one Sunday, while I was search- 
ing about for something in one 61 the windows up- 
stairs, I found a butterfly that had been starved to 
death, as I supposed. When I laid hold of it, it crum- 
bled to pieces. My feelings were such at the thought 
of the poor butterfly's sufferings, that I wept. And for 
all that day I could scarcely open my lips to say a word 
to any one, without bursting into tears And I re- 
collect well what a struggle I had when I first told a 
lie. A school in the neighborhood had a feast, ours 
had not, so 1 played the truant, after a serious struggle, 
to have an opportunity of seeing the scholars walk. I 
had a miserable afternoon ; for I felt that I was doing 
wrong, and I was afraid lest my mother should find me 
out. My sister found me out and told my mother, but 
my mother was loth to believe her till she had asked 
me myself. When I went home my mother asked me 
if I had been to school, and I said yes, and my mother, 
as she had never found me out in a lie before, be- 
lieved me. But I was sadly distressed afterwards 
when I thought of what I had done. That lie caused 
me days of remorse, and my sufferings were all the 
severer in consequence of my mother having so readily 
believed what I said. ;; 

The unhappy and unnatural effects of theology on 
23* 



330 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



the minds of earnest, truth-seeking men — the total 
prostration of manly dignity, the perversion of the 
mental faculties, and the debasement of human na- 
ture, is truly stated by Mr. Barker in the following 
extract : — 

"I also recollect being very much troubled with 
dreadful and indescribably awful dreams, and for sev- 
eral months during certain parts of the year I was ac- 
customed to rise during my sleep, and walk about the 
house in a state of sleep for hours together. I say in a 
state of sleep : but I cannot exactly describe the state 
in which I was. It was not perfect sleep, and yet I was 
not properly awake. My eyes were open, and I saw, 
as far as lean remember, the things around me, and I 
could hear what was said to me. But neither what I 
saw nor what I heard seemed to have power to pene- 
trate far enough into my soul to awake me properly. 
During those occasions, I was frequently very unhappy, 
dreadfully unhappy, most horribly miserable. Some- 
times I fancied I had been doing something wrong, and 
my fancied offence seemed horrible beyond all ex- 
pression, and alarmed and overwhelmed me with un- 
utterable terrors and distress. On one occasion I 
fancied that both I and my father had both been doing 
something wrong, and this seemed most horrible and 
distressing of all • and as I wandered about in my mys- 
terious state, I howled most piteously, and cried and 
wept as if my heart would break. I never recollect 
being roused from that dismal state while I was walk- 
ing about the house, except twice. Once when I 
struck my shins violently against a large earthenware- 
bowl and hurt myself sadly • and another was when I 
was attempting to go up the chimney: I put my foot 
upon the fire and burnt myself, and that awoke me, I 
suffered in this way for several years. After I went to 
bed at night I soon fell asleep, and slept perhaps an 
hour or nearly two. I would then begin to cry, or 
moan, or howl, and at times to sing. One night I sang 
a whole hymn of eight verses through ; the hymn in 
Weslev 7 s Hymn Book, beginning 



JOSEPH BARKER. 



331 



i With glorious clouds encompassed round 

Whom angels dimly see, 
Will the unsearchable be found 

Or God appear to me ? ' " 

Few persons who have not attended the Li class- 
meetings " of the Wesleyan Methodists can form an 
adequate idea of the stereotyped phrases and absurd 
sayings indulged in by those who " speak their expe- 
rience. ;; etc., at those meetings. Certain sentences 
are learned, and uttered indiscriminately, without 
reference to time, place, or other conditions. Mr. 
Barker, after speaking of the recklessness of speech 
thus indulged in, says : — 

" In many cases this false way of speaking is the re- 
sult of mere thoughtlessness perhaps, or of ignorance, 
joined with the notion that it is their duty to pray, or 
to say something in public. The parties have no 
intention to deceive : but being called on to speak, or 
invited to pray, they begin, and catch hold of such 
words as they can find, whether right or wrong, 
whether true or false. And their words are oftener 
foolish or false, than wise or true. *Their talk is at 
times most foolish and ridiculous. I will give an ex- 
ample or two. It is customary for people, when pray- 
ing for preachers, to say, ■ Lord, bless thy servants 
when they stand up to declare thy word : be thou 
mouth, matter, and wisdom to them.' This has some 
meaning in it when offered in reference to a preacher, 
especially a preacher about to preach. In other cases 
it would be most foolish and ridiculous. Yet I once 
heard a person in a prayer-meeting at Chester use this 
same form of expression in behalf of the sick and the 
dying. ■' Lord,' said he, 1 bless the sick and the 
afflicted, and those that are in the article of death; — 
be thou mouth, matter, and wisdom to them.' At 
another prayer-meeting at Chester, on a Friday eve- 
ning, one of the leaders gave out the following lines ; — 

' Another six days' work is done ; 
Another Sabbath is begun,' etc. 



332 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



I once heard a woman say in class, c I do thank God 
that he ever gave me a desire to see that death that 
never, never dies.' " 

Soon after Mr. Barker became " religious " and at- 
tended his class-meetings, he awaited the usual u call n 
to preach the gospel. Accordingly, having received 
the " call," he became a Methodist preacher, belong- 
ing to the Old Connexion, the New Connexion, and 
then advancing to Unitarianism, ultimately arriving at 
the climax of Freethought, in which cause he is now 
so distinguished an advocate. While a Methodist 
preacher, he was induced by a neighbor, an Atheist, 
to read Carlile's r ' Republican." VVe can readily un- 
derstand why Christians are taught not to read 
ht Infidel 7J works. The effect the " Republican M pro- 
duced on Mr. Barker's mind would be augmented, did 
those Christians investigate what they so often igno- 
rantly denounce. In reference to the " Republican," 
Mr. Barker says : — 

u I was very much struck in reading some portions 
of the work [Carlile's], and a2itated and shaken by its 
arguments on some points. The object of many of its 
articles was to prove Christianity irrational and false. 
The principal doctrines which it assailed were such as 
the trinity — the common notion about the fall of man, 
and its effects upon the human race — the Calvinistic 
notions of eternal, universal, and absolute predestina- 
tion, unconditional election and reprobation — the Cal- 
vkiistic notion of God's sovereignty or partiality — the 
utter depravity of every human being born into the 
world, and yet the obligation of those utterly depraved 
beings to steer clear of all evil, and 'o do all that is 
right and good, on pain of eternal damnation. The 
doctrine of satisfaction to justice, was also assailed, 
and the doctrine of the immortality of the human soul, 
and the notion that because it is immaterial, it must, 

as a consequence, be immortal The consequence 

was, that my mind was thrown into a state of doubt 
and suspense. I cannot say that I doubted the truth 
of the Christian religion exactly, but still I doubted the 



JOSEPH EARKER. 



333 



truth of certain doctrines which I had been taught to 
regard as parts of that religion. I can briefly describe 
the doubts I had. I neither saw clearly that those 
doctrines to which he objected were no part of the 
Christian religion, nor could I see any way by which 
these doctrines could be defended and proved to be 
rational and true. One thing began to seem almost 
certain, either that Christianity was not true, or that 
those doctrines as generally laid down, were no parts 
of the Christian religion. This led to investigation. I 
was wishful to ascertain whether those doctrines which 
were assailed as irrational, were parts of Christianity 
or not. I began to converse on the subject with one 
of my religious companions, and I began to read on the 
subject as I had opportunity. My companion was 
rather troubled and alarmed at the doubts I expressed 
with respect to the correctness of some of the common 
doctrines of what was considered orthodoxy; still, 
what I had said had some influence on his mind, for 
he told me shortly after, that he wished he had never 
heard my doubts, for what 1 had said had spoiled some 
of his best sermons ; he would never be able to preach 

them with comfort more During my residence in 

that [Newcastle] circuit, my views on many subjects 
became anti-Methodistical to a very great extent in- 
deed. I now no longer held the prevailing views with 
respect to the nature of justifying faith, the witness of 
the Spirit, regeneration, sanctification, and the like. 
In reading Wesley's works, I was astonished at the 
great number of unmeaning and inconsistent passages 
which I met with. In many of his views I perfectly 
agreed with him, but with a vast: amount of what he 
said on other subjects, I could not help but disagree.... 
....About this time, rinding that there was little likeli- 
hood that I should be tolerated in the New Connexion 
unless I could allow my mind to be enslaved, and feel- 
ing that I should be obliged sooner or later to break 
loose from Methodistical restraint, and speak and act 
with freedom, I thought of visiting Mr. Turner, the 
Unitarian minister of Newcastle, and seeking an inter- 



334 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



view with him. I had heard something to the effect 
that Unitarians were great lovers of freedom — that 
they did not bind their ministers and members by any 
human creeds, but left them at iiberty to investigate 
the whole system of Christianity thoroughly, and to 
judge as to what were its doctrines and duties for 
themselves, and to preach what they believe to be 
true without restraint and persecution, and [ thought if 
this was the case, they must be a very happy people. 
But from other things which I had heard respecting 
them, I was led to regard them with something of 
horror — to look on them as persons who trifled with 
Scripture authority, as persons who had rushed from 
the extremes of ialse orthodoxy into the extremes of 
Infidelity, I was in consequence prevented from vis- 
iting Mr. Turner, and I remained in comparative igno- 
rance of the Unitarian body, in ignorance both of their 
principles and of their character, still shut up in the 
dungeons of orthodox slavery. :; 

" The dungeons of orthodox slavery ?? did not long 
contain Mr. Barker ; for he afterwards became better 
acquainted with the Unitarians, and formed one of 
their most energetic preachers. But Unitarianism, 
appearing to him at first true in its doctrine and free 
in its advocacy, shortly became insufficient for the 
cravings of his mind ; and, at length, he found himself 
outside all the churches. The Bible, which at one 
period of his life seemed to him a perfect revelation 
from " God, ?? now appeared only the production of 
erring and half-informed men ; and having a thorough 
knowledge of its contents, he resolved to employ the 
remainder of his life in confuting the false notions of 
its u divine authority. 7 ' America presenting a conge- 
nial residence, he resolved to visit that country and 
purchase some land, upon which he might occupy his 
leisure from lecturing and writing. Having settled in 
the country, he considered something should be said on 
the Bible. Accordingly, in November, 1852, a Bible 
Convention was held at Salem, Ohio, Mr. Barker being 
appointed President. We extract the following from 



JOSEPH BARKER. 



335 



his speech, as illustrating the uncertainty of the Bible 
translations, the character of the translators, and the 
nature of the manuscripts from which the translations 
are made : — 

" We say, that the Bible bears on its very face the 
marks of human imperfection and error. This is true 
of every Bible in existence. We will begin with the 
Bible in common use, and what do we find 1 The 
title-page tells us it is a translation from the original 
tongues, by the special command of one of the kings 
of England. Does any one pretend that the translators 
were infallible — men above the possibility of error? 
Nothing of the kind. Even those who contend that 
the original writers of the Bible were infallible, do not 
pretend that the king's translators were so. The sects 
and priesthoods themselves show that they regard the 
common translation as imperfect. They all take the 
liberty to alter it. They alter it in thousands and tens 
of thousands of places. Nothing is more common than 
for theological disputants to appeal from the common 
translation of the Bible to what they call the original 
Greek and Hebrew. Every commentator takes the 
same liberty. The leaders of the sects and priest- 
hoods of the day have testified their belief that the 
Bibles in common use are imperfect and erroneous by 
making new translations. There is scarcely an Eng- 
lish sect or priesthood of any note in existence that 
has not produced a new translation of the Scriptures. 
John Wesley translated both the Old and New Testa- 
ment. His translation of the New Testament con- 
tinues to be used in the Methodist body to this day. 
Adam Clarke, in his " Commentary," translates afresh 
almost every important passage in the book. Many 
passages he translates in such a way as to give them 
meanings quite contrary to the meaning given them 
in the common Bible. Richard Watson, a Methodist 
preacher, commenced a new translation of the Bible. 
Dr. Boothroyd, a Congregationalist minister of Eng- 
land, published another translation. Dr. Conquest, a 
layman of the same denomination, published another. 



336 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



in which he says he made twenty thousand emenda- 
tions, or improvements. He must, therefore, have 
thought the common Bible had twenty thousand im- 
perfections or -errors. Mr. Belsham, and other Euglieh 
Unitarians, published a new translation of the New 
Testament. Mr. Wellbeloved, a Unitarian minister, 
published a new translation of a great part of the Old 
Testament, intending to publish a new translation of the 
whole Bible. Even ministers of the Established Church 
have spoken strongly against the common translation, 
and some of them have gone so far as to publish new 
translations of portions of the Bible. Alexander Camp- 
bell, the founder of the denomination which bears his 
name, has published a new translation of the New 
Testament. A Mr. Taylor published a new translation 
of the New Testament from Griesbacfrs Greek New 
Testament. A Mr. Sharp published another transla- 
tion from Griesbach's Greek text. The Baptists have 

published a new translation of the Bible, I am told 

We are not alone, therefore, in believing that the 
Bibles in common use bear marks of human imperfec- 
tion and error. The leading men in all the religious 
sects and priesthoods of Great Britain and America 
believe the same. We add, if the translators of the 
Bible had been the best and wisest men that ever 
lived, their work would not have been perfect. A 
translation from Greek and Hebrew cannot be perfect. 
But the translators employed by King James were not 
the best or wisest men that ever lived. They were, 
in some respects, exceedingly ignorant, prejudiced, 

and immoral They were liars and false-swearers. 

These dignitaries of the Church of England knew, as 
well as you know, that kings and queens are often vi- 
cious, profligate, and godless. They knew that among 
the kings and queens of England there had been some 
of the most loathsome lumps of filthiness — some of the 
most adulterous and lecheious sensualists — some of the 
most heartless and cruel tyrants — some of the most in- 
human and bloody wretches that ever cursed the earth. 
They knew, too, that English kings and queens gene- 



JOSEPH BARKER. 



337 



rally were under strong temptations to be thus cruel 
and profligate, and that it was too much to expect any 
of them to be strictly religious and virtuous, Yet they 
bound themselves on oath to call their kings and 
queens, whatever their characters might be, £ most 
gracious and religious/' They did call the monarch 
then living, 1 most gracious and religious. ? and they 
handed it down as a duty to their successors to give the 
same high titles to all their future monarch*, though 
they should be as filthy as that unwieldy, waddling 
mass of lu?t and rottenness, King Henry the Eighth, 
or at false and treacherous as the perjured Charles the 
First. These translators of the Bible also knew that 
many who were brought to them to be buried were 
godless, wicked men. They knew that some of them 
were drunkards, adulterers, false-swearers. Yet they 
bound themselves to call them all, as they lowered 
them into their graves, their 1 beloved brethren,' and 
to declare that they committed them to the dust { in 
sure and curtain hope of a resurrection to eternal life, ? 
though they believed in their hearts that they would 

rise to eternal damnation They were the hirelings 

of the king and government. They regarded the king 
as the bead of the church, and were sworn to obey 
him in all things. They were sworn to obey him in 
translating the Bible. The king gave them the rules 
by which they were to be guided in the work of trans- 
lation, and they were sworn to follow these rules. 
These rules were intended to prevent them from put- 
ting anything into their translation of the Bible that 
was at variance with the established priesthoods, and 
to keep them from leaving out anything that was fa- 
vorable to the Established Church and government. 
And they kept to their rules, and they were influenced 
by their interests, their situation, and their prejudices. 
It would be foolish to think otherwise. To make the 
Bible agree with their creed, they put into their trans- 
lation things which were not in the Greek or Hebrew 
Bibles, and mistranslated vast multitudes of things 
which were in the Greek and Hebrew Bibles. I will 



29 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



give you an instance or two. Their creed taught that 
God once died, or laid down his life. There wa^ 
nothing in the Greek or Hebrew Bibles to uphold this 
doctrine, so in translating the Bible they so altered a 
passage as to make it to teach the doctrine. You may 
find the passage in 1 John, iii. 16. It is as follows : — 
£ Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid 
down his life for us. ? Now the word 1 God ; is not in 
■the Greek ; it was put into the passage by the trans- 
lators. In one place in the Old Testament it is said 
that Elhanan slew Goliath the Gittite. The translators 
have altered the passage so as to make it say that it 
was the brother of Goliath that Elhanan slew. See 2 

Samuel xxi. 19 Before a man can give a perfect 

translation of the Bible, he must have a perfect know- 
ledge of both the Greek and Hebrew Bible, and of the 
language into which he would translate it. But no 
man has that knowledge. The Greek and Hebrew 
languages, from which the Bible has to be translated, 
aie dead languages — languages which are no longer 
spoken or written by any people — languages which 
exist only in ancient writings. The meaning of many 
of the words of those languages is, in consequence, 
lost. The writings of the Old Testament are the only 
books remaining in the Hebrew language. There are 
no Hebrew books to throw light on dark passages, or 
to settle the meaning of doubtful words and phrases. 
True, we have Greek and Hebrew dictionaries and 
grammars, but these dictionaries and grammars are 
the work of imperfect and erring men, who had no 
other means of understanding the meaning of the 
Greek and Hebrew languages than ourselves. These 
dictionaries and grammars differ from each other. 
None of them are perfect. The best abound with er- 
rors. We have better means of obtaining a knowledge 
of the Greek language than of the Hebrew — but the 
Greek of trie New Testament is a peculiar dialect, not 
to be found in any other book. It is, therefore, as dif- 
ficult to translate the New Testament as the Old. If, 
therefore, we would find a Bible that does not bear 



JOSEPH BARKER. 



339 



the marks of human imperfection and error, we must 
look for it in what are called the original Greek and 
Hebrew. But there is no such Bible. The Greek and 
Hebrew Bibles are as really imperfect as the English 
translations. The Greek and Hebrew Bibles are as 
really the work of imperfect and erring men as the 
English translations are. Many people imagine that 
there is only one Greek and Hebrew Bible ; and that 
that one was written by Moses and the prophets, and 
by the evangelists and the apostles. But this is not 
the case. There are several Greek and Hebrew Bibles, 
and all of them are the compilations of fallible men. 
We have several Hebrew Old Testaments, and quite a 
number of Greek New Testaments, all compiled by 
different persons, but drawn, to some extent, from dif- 
ferent sources. It should be understood, that the old- 
est Greek and Hebrew Bibles are not printed books, 
but written ones. They were written before the art 
of printing was known among Jews or Christians. 
Those written or manuscript Bibles are more numer- 
ous than the Greek and Hebrew printed Bibles. They 
are the work of different men, in different countries, 
and different ages. And no two of them are alike. 
They differ from each other almost endlessly. Some 
contain more, some less. Some have passages in one 
form, others have them in other forms. John Mills 
compared a number of those manusciipts of the New 
Testament, and found that they differed from each 
other in thirty thousand places. He marked and col- 
lated thirty thousand various readings. Other 1 men 
have compared the Greek manuscripts of the New Tes- 
tament, and discovered upwards of a hundred thousand 
various readings — a hundred thousand places or par- 
ticulars in which they differ from each other. A 
similar diversity of readings is to be found in the He- 
brew manuscripts of the Old Testaments. Now it is 
from these imperfect and discordant manuscripts that 
men have to make their Greek and Hebrew Bibles. 
They have nothing else from which to make them. 
And those Greek and Hebrew Bible makers have no 



340 



BIOGRAPHY OF 



means of knowing which of the various and contradic- 
tory manuscripts are the best You must understand 

that the original writings from which the manuscripts 
now in existence originated, have perished many ages 
ago. It is probable that the last of them perished 
more than sixteen hundred years ago. We have, 
therefore, no opportunity of comparing existing manu- 
scripts with the original writings, in order to find out 
which are the true, the original readings. The dis- 
cordant and contradictory manuscripts, therefore, can 

never be corrected It is not only of the common 

English Bible, therefore, that the words of the resolu- 
tion are true, but of every Bible known, whether print- 
ed or Written, whether in Greek and Hebrew, or in 
modern languages. ?; 

Since Mr. Baker has resided in America, he has 
visited England, and lectured for the Secular and 
Freethought Societies in England and Scotland ; the 
total number of lectures he delivered during his visit 
amounted to 153, besides engaging in several debates, 
the principal one being with the Rev. Brewin Grant, 
at Halifax, during ten nights, on the " Divine Authori- 
ty of the Bible," which is now published. The views 
now held by Mr. Barker on " God ;; and Secularism 
may be seen from the following extract of a letter ad- 
dressed to the Editor of the Reasoner, written by Mr. 
Barker from America, on February 22, 1853 : — 

u I confess I know nothing of God but as he is re- 
vealed in his works. With me, the word God stands 
for the unseen cause of all natural phenomena. I at- 
tribute to God no quality but what seems necessary 
to account for what I see in nature. My Jewish and 
Christian notions of God are all gone, except so far as 

they appear to be the utterances of nature As to 

Secularism, I think our business is with the seen, the 
worldly, the physical, the secular. Our whole duty 
seems to me to be truly and fully to unfold ourselves, 
and truly and fully to unfold others : to secure the 
greatest possible perfection of being and condition, 



JOSEPH BARKER. 



341 



and the largest possible share of life and enjoyment 
to all mankind in this present world. The machinery 
of sects and priesthoods for saving souls and fitting 
men for heaven, I regard as wasteful and injurious 
folly, except so far as it may tend to better men and 
improve their condition here. I have a hope of future 
life, but whatever is best for this life must be best for 
another life ; whatever is best for the present, must 
be best for the eternal future. To reveal to men the 
laws of their own being, and to unfold to them the 
laws of nature generally, and to bring them into har- 
mony with those laws, is, therefore, with me, the 
whole business of man. If there be another world, as 
1 hope, it will. I suppose, be governed^ by the same 
laws as this. If men live on for ever, they will have 
all the better start in a future life, for having got well 
on in this. As an art. therefore. I believe in Secu- 
larism. ;; J. W. 



Note by the American Publisher. — Soon after Mr. 
Barker's return from England, he resumed his lectur- 
ing in various towns and cities in the United States, 
giving great satisfaction, by his able addresses, to larne 
and intelligent audiences. He still labors occasional- 
ly in the same pursuit, though at present he is resid- 
ing on his farm at Omaha City, in the Territory of 
Nebraska. Much might be said in praise of his efforts 
to promote Liberalism in this country: but his great- 
est triumph, as we consider it, was his public debate 
with the Kev. Dr. Berg of Philadelphia. This took 
place on the 9th of January, 1854, and continued no 
less than eight evenings. The question was on " the 
origin, authority, and tendency of the Bible" — Dr. 
Berg affirming, and Mr. Barker opposing. This fa- 
mous discussion was attended by thousands, and was 
probably the greatest affair of the kind that ever . oc- 
curred. The speeches on both sides were published, 
making a large pamphlet of 190 pages. Of course, 
each of the debaters was victorious, in the opinion of 
29* 



342 



BIOGBAPHl OF 



his friends : but the trick played by the Christian par- 
ty, in the closing scene, showed a determination on 
their part lo claim the victory whether or no ! For, 
as soon as Dr. Berg (who made the last speech) had 
finished, one of his friends took the platform, and, 
while the audience were separating, read some reso- 
lutions in favor of the Doctor and the Bible. " Less 
than, one fourth of the audience, ?? says the Philadel- 
phia Register, %i voted for them. The more serious 
part of the audience did not vote at all. The great 
majority seemed to take the thing as a farce. The 
result of the vote made a good many long faces on the 
stage and front seats. A short silence ensued, follow- 
ed by a burst of obstreporous laughter, and cries of 
1 the Infidels have it ! ? And so ended the most re- 
markable debase ever held in America. :) 



The following correct and candid report of the above 
discussion, appeared at the time in the columns of the 
Pennsylvania Freeman : — 

The Bible Discussion. — The discussion on the au- 
thority of the Bible, at Concert Hall, between Rev. J. 
F. Berg, of this city and Joseph Barker, of Ohio, clos- 
ed on Thursday evening last, after a continuance of 
eight evenings. During the whole time, the vast hall 
was crowded with an eager multitude — numbering 
from 2000 to 2500 persons — each paying an admit- 
tance of 12 1-2 cents every evening, and on some 
evenings it is said that hundreds went away, unable 
to approach the door ; nor did the interest appear to 
flag among the hearers to the last. 

Of the merits of the question or the argument, it 
does not come within the scope of a strictly anti-slave- 
ry paper to speak, but we cannot forbear to notice the 
contrast in the manner and bearing of the two debat- 
ers, and the two parties among the audience. Mr. 
Barker uniformly bore himself as a gentleman, cour- 
teously and respectfully towards his opponent, and 



JOSEPH BARKER. 



343 



with the dignity becoming his position, and the so- 
lemnity and importance of the question. We regret 
that we cannot say the same of Dr. Berg, who at times 
seemed to forget the obligations of the gentleman in 
his zeal as a controversialist. He is an able and skill- 
ful debater, though less logical than Mr. Barker, but 
he wasted his time and strength too often on person- 
alities and irrelevant matters. His personal inuendoes 
and epithets, his coarse witticisms, and a bearing that 
seemed to us more arrogant than Christian, may ha^ve 
suited the vul2ar and the intolerant among his party, 
but we believe these things won him no respect from 
the calm and thinking portion of the audience, while 
we know that they grieved and offended some intelli- 
gent and candid men who thoroughly agreed with his 
views. It is surely time that all Christians and clergy- 
men had learned that men whom they regard as here- 
tics and Infidels have not forfeited their claims to the 
respect and courtesies of social life, by their errors of 
opinion, and that insolence and arrogance, contemptu- 
ous sneers and impeachment of motives and character, 
toward such men, are not effective means of grace for 
their enlightenment and conversion. 

Among the audience, there was a large number of 
men, who also lost their self-control in their dislike to 
Mr. Barker's views, and he was often interrupted, and 
sometimes checked in his argument, by hisses, groans, 
sneers, vulgar cries, and clamor, though through all 
these annoyances and repeated provocations, he main- 
tained his wonted composure of manner and clearness 
of thought. On the other hand, Dr. Berg was heard 
with general quiet by his opponents, and greeted with 
clamorous applause by his friends, who seemed to con- 
stitute a large majority of the audience, and to feel 
that the triumph of their cause, like the capture of 
Jericho of old, depended upon the amount of noise 
made. 



344 



BIOGRAPHY OF JOSEPH BARKER. 



Mr. Barker, in giving an account of the origin of the 
discussion, says : — 

" In December, [1853] in compliance with a request 
from the Sunday Institute, I began a course of lectures 
in Philadelphia, on the origin, authority and influence 
of the Scriptures. The object of the lectures was to 
show that the Bible is of human origin, that its teach- 
ings are not of divine authority, and that the doctrine 
that the Bible is God's word is injurious in its tendency. 

" When I sent the Sunday Institute a programme of 
my lectures, I authorised the Secretary to announce, 
through the papers, that I was willing to meet any 
clergyman, of good standing in any of the leading 
churches, in public discussion on the Bible question. 77 

[The Rev. Mr. McCalla, a Presbyterian clergyman, 
accepted the offer, and arrangements were made for 
a six nights debate ; but, on the fifth evening, after try 
ing to raise a mob, he withdrew from the contest.] 

u The clergy, or a portion of the clergy, of Philadel 
phia, unwilling to leave their cause in this plight, de 
manded that I should discuss the question with Dr. 
Berg, a minister in whom they had fuller confidence. 
Being assured that Dr. Berg was a gentleman and a 
scholar, and that he was the ablest debater the clergy 
of Philadelphia could boast, I agreed to meet him, and 
the discussion was fixed for the 9th, 10th, 12th, 13th, 

16th, 17th, 18th and 19th of January. 77 

. £t Though the Doctor did not prove himself so much 
of a gentleman as I had been encouraged to expect, I 
was sorry he declined to continue the discussion four 
nights longer, as we had not got more than half through 
the question w T hen the eighth night closed. I wished 
for an opportunity of laying the whole subject before 
the public. Perhaps some other clergyman will take 
the matter in hand — one disposed and able to discuss 
the subject thoroughly. 77 




i 



7 



